#OUGHH CRAMP

[laikahh]

my TUMMY HURTS

[corvidat]

Ough the horrors

[bluekeaton]

i need to be fed ibuprofen like how you would feed oats to a horse

[databroker]

I want to beat Jean Vicquemare with a baseball bat.

[boysbellyrubs]

its been a while but here's this. it's probably not the greatest but i just vomited it up in like half an hour...hehe see what i did there.

---

“Ow, oww. Mmh, fuck.” Alistair whined, hugging his upset belly. He swore being at fancy places fucked with his immune system. He ducked his head down and squeezed his middle tightly, the rolling, gurgling organ cramping up tightly. “Gah, ahh, oughh.” Alistair huddled down into the corner, his forehead meeting his knees. He was stuck in the bathroom at the moment, desperately trying to get his stomach to calm down so he could go out and face the multitudes of people in the dining hall. 

As of now, Alistair was attending one of his drama societies meetings as he was the treasurer of the committee. He was perfectly fine before he left, maybe a little queasy from nerves but nothing to be wary of. However, he took one bite of the dinner and knew that he was going to be in for a rough night. 

His hair was tied up in a messy bun, the baby hairs along his hairline were stuck down with sweat and his stomach was in his throat. Alistair moaned at a harsh cramp, a gurgle rippling its way through his intestines. “Where’s Nikau when you need him?” At home. Nikau was at home completely unawares of his boyfriend’s ailments. Nikau was a student that just did the work and nothing more, so when Alistair signed up for the committee Nikau was more than happy to decline the offer. 

Right now Alistair wished Nikau was here. He would hold him and gently guide him out of the building, and everything would be okay. 

Another gurgle and Alistair crumpled down to his knees, harshly hitting the cheap lino. “God, my belly. Jesus.” He whimpered as he felt the food he had eaten squelch its way down and around his stomach, refusing to digest and settle. He burped, but it was small and wet and didn’t do much for him. He tried again, but this time it made him gag. 

“Mmh, okay, nevermind.” He panted. “Nevermind- eugh.” He gagged again, one hand hovering just below his chin. Saliva gathered in his mouth and Alistair felt another burp weasel its way up his throat. He moaned at the feeling. He clamped his mouth shut, slapping his hand over it for more protection, and prayed. Alistair kneaded his belly, it didn’t do much for the nausea but the cramps in his intestines eased a little. 

A few minutes of sitting still later, Alistair felt confident enough to remove his hand and breathe. He sat up a little straighter and put his hand gently on his belly. He was bloated up to the max, his dress pants digging terribly into his midsection. He pulled apart his blazer and quickly unbuttoned his pants, watching as his belly fell forward and push down the zipper. He rubbed underneath his black dress shirt, soothing the angry marks left there. Alistair put both hands on his middle, simply resting them there to ease it. God, he needed to leave. The only thing that would fix this would be Nikau’s hands and a nice hot water bottle. 

He braced himself and stood back up, the world tilting around him and he heard a ringing in his ears. Alistair used the stall to keep himself upright as he did up his pants and tucked in his shirt. The simple act of tidying himself up caused more gurgles to erupt and a sickening spin cycle began in his belly. “Oof, fuck. Ughh.” He moaned, holding his belly like he was pregnant; one hand on his belly button and the other on the tight skin of his upper belly. He rubbed himself slowly, trying desperately to calm it down enough to leave the stall. 

“Urrp-ouhh. Mmh, I don’t feel good. Ahh.” He breathed. Alistair felt around his pockets for his phone, but luck was not on his side tonight. An image of his phone sitting on a dining hall table flashed into his mind, and he nearly passed out. God fucking dammit. 

Alistair slowly unlatched the stall and made his way out of the bathroom. There was no one in the hallway, and no one in the entrance, but before he stepped inside the dining hall he did a quick breathing exercise. Just in case. As he pulled open the doors, the fresh smell of pastry and pavlova attacked his nose and he almost lost it right then and there. He gagged in his mouth and looked straight down, avoiding eye contact with the waiters and waitresses. 

His table was near the far right wall. He just needed to make it there and leave as quickly as possible. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on him as he stumbled his way through the crowds. Someone stepped back and walked into him, apologising quickly under their breath. Alistair could’ve killed them. He was so overwhelmed, sweaty, sick and felt like the next time he looked up would be his last. 

Thankfully, by some miracle, his table came into view and he beelined it for his phone. But, the miracle didn’t last long, as one of his friends, Cassie, stopped him in his tracks. 

“Alistair! Where were you? You missed all the speeches.” 

He swallowed thickly. “Uh. Bathroom.” He said stupidly. 

Cassie frowned a bit, no doubt noticing his complexion. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.” Her hands were gripping his arms, making him feel even hotter. 

“Um.” He swallowed again. His stomach was revving up the spin cycle once again, and his lower belly was beginning to cramp. Alistair just shook his head and removed himself from her grasp, sidling past her and grabbing his phone. Cassie followed him, blocking him from the other guests' views. 

“Do you need help? You look like you might pass out.” 

“I’m about to. I feel like garbage.” Another gag grew in his throat and he cupped his mouth, one hand still scrolling through his contacts. 

Cassie grabbed a glass. “Do you want some water?” She shoved it in his face and he never thought water could make him feel so ill but the way it sloshed and settled just made him think of his insides, and another gag hit him. Cassie put it back down quickly. “Okay, no water. How about Nikau? I can call him for you?” 

Alistair’s hands were shaking as she pulled his phone gently out of his hand. He curled forward and wrapped his free hand around his middle. The smells and temperature of this building was just making him feel like hot shit, he wished he had never left the cool sanctuary of the bathroom. 

His stomach grumbled at him, bloated and upset and so close to being sick Alistair was scared he’d soon have puke on his lap. Cassie was talking beside him but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. There was too much going on and his head felt like it was gonna explode. 

“Cassie, I need a bin.” 

Cassie turned to look at him, phone at her ear. “What?” 

“A-urrp- a bin. I’m gonna throw up.” He said thickly. Alistair felt his jaw grow heavy and saliva pooled under his tongue. He gagged harshly into his hand and hoped Cassie had heard what he had said. Suddenly, a bin appeared in his lap and he let the floodgates open. He gagged loudly, curling his around the lip of the bin to cover his face. Vomit splattered into the bottom, crinkling up the rubbish bag and covering the napkins and plastic cups inside it. He was glad there was no food in this one. 

His back curled forward as he gagged again, chunky vomit coating his throat and the bin. He burped wetly, rubbing his belly as another gag rocketed up his throat and more vomit fell into the bin. He hoped no one was taking notice, the situation couldn’t get any worse. He had little time to think as another gag attacked him, the nausea sky rocketing to a solid 16 out of 10. Alistair moaned into the bin, coughing and spitting. 

Cassie’s hand was on his back. He appreciated that as he could barely feel himself sitting in his own chair. Her hand was keeping him grounded as his head floated away into the sky. Alistair rested his burning forehead on his wrist, methodically spitting into the bin. He tried to soothe his tummy but he was so bloated it was painful to even let his fingers gently graze the skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily. 

“Hey, are you alright now?” Cassie said, her quiet voice beside his ear. Alistair was glad she was the one who found him. 

He nodded. He wasn’t done-done, but for now he felt like he could at least stand up. “Okay, because Nikau is on his way. I think some fresh air will do you some good.” She rubbed her hand up the length of his back, keeping him steady. 

“Yep. Okay, help me up.” Alistair’s face was beet red, a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment. He just needed a bed and his boyfriends arms. His stomach was aching at this point, the violent vomiting and the tight swollen skin made it feel like he couldn’t bend over even if he tried. 

“How are you?’ Cassie asked. 

“Terrible. My stomach really hurts.” He couldn’t keep the whine out of his voice. “And I feel like I’m walking on nothing. It feels really weird.” 

Cassie held him tighter at that. “Mm, you’re probably dehydrated. I get that.” 

The air outside was refreshing. It blew the sticky hair off his face and filled his lungs. Alistair found himself guided to the nearest bench and sitting down was a relief. 

“Is it a stomach bug?” Cassie asked. She was looking out at the road for any sign of Nikau. 

Alistair shrugged, rubbing his tummy. “Not sure. Probably, considering my whole body feels like it's on fire.” Cassie gently put her hand on Alistair’s forehead. 

“Yeah, no wonder you feel so terrible.” 

It went quiet. Alistair just curled up into himself, gently rubbing his belly as it settled down. He was glad the vomiting helped, if only he didn’t have to do it in public. His lamenting was cut short as a car approached the curb, and a very stressed Nikau hopped out of the drivers side. 

“Star, oh my god! Are you alright?” A flash of movement and Nikau was in front of him, holding his face with his hands, checking over him like a worried mother. “Cas, hey, is he okay?” 

Cassie giggled. “Yes, I think so. He puked inside, but he’s definitely not 100%” She stood up, brushing down her dress. “I better get back inside, actually. I hope you feel better, Alistair.” 

Before she left, Alistair mustered up the strength to look at her. “Thank you, Cassie. You saved me in there.” 

She looked a little sheepish. “Oh, it was nothing. Just, rest up.” 

She left and Nikau brought his hands to Alistairs. “You’re burning. Let’s get you home, sweetheart.” 

“Please.” Alistair was pulled up by Nikau and gently put into the passenger seat. He rested his head on the window, still holding his middle. 

Nikau got in the car and looked right at him. “How are you? You really don’t look good, Star.” He cupped his face, thumb gently rubbing under his eye. 

Alistair leant into his hand. He could fall asleep just like this. “I feel awful. I’m overwhelmed and I feel like my head isn’t connected to my body. And my belly hurts really badly.” He moaned that last bit. He scooted down in the seat more, feeling sorry for himself. 

“Aw, Star. Don’t worry, I’ll get you feeling better in no time my love.” 

---

terrible at endings

[mail-posting]

okay so its a little unclear but, i think this is saying he thinks he'll die if he tried to fight back, which is an ingrained response (based on the fact they basically say "even though he has amnesia he thinks that")

this is just. dejecting really considering he both had tranquilizers AND sleeping pills presumably at the same time (the wiki does call his medication a "dangerous amount of sedatives"

i have no idea what defrauding charity funds are, but if i had to guess he had some slight income from an organization or something but the asylum cut him off from that? not too sure though

so. this is abt his mom i'd assume and i think she had some sort of meltdown? i think this might have also contributed to him in the asylum of the staff knew about it since some mental illnesses are genetic

boo for whoever he got sold to fuck that guy

this is what i was talking abt when i mentioned he doesnt like being tied down (obviously for the asylum reasons but. also this) and looking back on it i think this would be another cause for a smaller height, bc on top of the poor nutrition he was also living in a VERY cramped space

again this could be where the "violent tendencies" came from but like when he attacked the guard i think. this can be somewhat slightly excused considering ELECTRIC FUCKING CHAIR

this just. makes me cry and sad oughh

Okay so!! In order:

1: what you said is correct I think but also I think *fighting back* is different from *not being obedient* and depending how strict their standards were it's no wonder he just follows blindly augh

2: he ABSOLUTELY had a dangerous amount of sedation. He's definitely overdosed at least once I think

3: defrauding charity funds in this case likely means that the asylum was paid money to put towards taking care of the patients, but they instead used it for personal reasons and didn't help their patients at all.

4: if the photo is still around then that could have been used as an excuse to sell Emil off? Because "look! His mother is CLEARLY unfit to take care of him!"

5/6: god his conditions were so bad... Also yeah kennels can be VERY small, especially for a human. It's also likely they were used for dogs too, since he was never intended to be in the ring until he tried to escape

7: yeah!! He probably WOULD have lashed out because of fear— goddd

8: aughh he wants to make people happy my heartt,,,,,,,,, he has so much love but he doesn't know what it is aaa

[therrerium-valkryonia]

🤰2️⃣ 🤰1️⃣🏫 🩲🛑⌛

An overdue student and teacher with twins both start going into labor and giving birth mid class, both trying to hold them in.

Okay... Here we go, short story this time.

It was an hour before dismissal and the students we're answering a long activity which allowed the teacher of twins, to rest having flared up cramping and contractions grew unbearable.

She leant back into her seat gripping at her tux shirt, her panting grew rapid and it calmed with her gulping in fear glancing over at the girl at the back. She finished first, the A+ quiet student felt the same pain and gripped her armrest leant back tears flow down her pale rosy cheeks .

She knew what was going on looking at her the overdue student, she knew what she did. She felt sharp pains. Her and her stundent grunted softly and someone called the class over for an interview giving the two a bit of relief.

The class left for the program the signed for and the two we're left as the teacher came over with a pained pace, she fell to her knees a 30 year old with her 16 year old student, panting irrationally.

Then it happened their waters had popped and the student grabbed her teachers hands and she cried "Aoughh! Mis- Ngaahh! Lucy stop it!!!" Lucy got up contractions made her fall back.

She spoke tearily "I- I'm s- Oughh! sorry I c- AN'T!! Raaaahhh! Forgive me, Amy" Amy limped over to the rug and placed it on the puddle then felt with her teacher. The pain was too much they both had to push, Amy hugged Lucy and she grabbed her back.

The baby's descent was fast and loud footsteps came they both rusged away from their seats and fixed the rug, Lucy waddled to her desk.

The class continued their activity and 30 mins left ticking, the two kept fighting the urge and legs closed off. After 25 mins... The head rubbed at her entrance she refused to let it out now.

Lucy struggled cause the pain stung her so much she gave in and let out the head, it had stopped at her panties head stuck it struck hard and she panted in tears and when the alarm rang, she smiled so much "C- Class D- Diss- MISSED!!" And the student all left except the two they both bore as hard as they could.

Lucy's came quick falling straight into her panties and the twin came out all at once and ripped through, she fell back in pain and fainted.

Amy's baby dropped into her panties but barely bulged and pushing with all her strength did it force out the shoulders and it shot out and tore her panties, she passed out both fell into a deep coma for a week. They woke up begging for their babies who we're next to them.

They watched the babies wriggle and smirked full of happiness but with a dull look... pain.

[lunar-fey]

oughh the stomach cramps. pain and suffering eternal. -> remembered i had a medicine as needed for literally this. it helped so fast i could cry

[slumbering-shadows]

beware of the perils of menstruation (craving chocolate 24/7) this is an evil wizards spell designed to debuff you (chocolate can worsen cramps and cause bloating) (but oughh... chocolate............ )

[lynxgirlpaws]

Oughh I need to drink more water an evil monster named cramps is attacking me

[atomra]

wakes up to cramps OUGHH 😩😩

[shodansbabygirl]

Oughh I'm at that state where I can lay and sit comfortably so I keep thinking I can stand up and just like do shit like refill my water. Wrong. Incorrect. Leg and back cramps when in motion are still happening and will make me fall to the ground if I do not watch myself.

[yomiel]

ugh i have a terrible cramp and i’m stressing over my dads birthday in a couple days but idk what to get him oughh what if i just hibernated for a couple months

[mars-ipan]

oughh my god cramps... pain... owie...

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 27: She’s Trying to Make a Devil Out of Me

Shizuka emerges from her blanket of darkness, waking with a jolt. The first thing she sees is Moya staring down at her, a worried expression melting into relief. “Moya?” she mutters, looking around.

She is lying on a narrow bed in an enclosed space with white walls. Equipment of various purposes line the walls. It takes her a moment to remember first what an ambulance is, and another to realize she’s in one.

“Hey, Shizuka,” Moya groans, falling painfully into the seat next to the gurney, rubbing her side. Her right arm is in a sling, and she is covered all over in hastily applied bandages.

“... Ph-Phantasma, where--!? Where is she--?!”

She sits up to receive a flash of red and blue light in her face. From beyond the doors at the back of the ambulance, she can see the exterior of the gym. Gathered in front of the entrance is another ambulance, a police squad car and an imposing steel paddywagon, LAPD emblazoned on its side.

And there, despite towering over the officers, Phantasma appears incredibly small. Her head hung low, her ankles and wrists cuffed together. Her mask is gone, and the face that hid beneath is that of a middle aged woman, lined and framed by a surprising amount of dark flowing hair, streaked with grey.

“Whu--?

“You can relax. She’s done. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but you saved us…” Moya says, calming her. Shizuka sinks into the bed, her head suddenly light as air. She barely hears her friend speaking. “You kicked the fight right out of her. They say a fight’s only done when one opponent’s lost the will to win, and I never thought I’d see that happen to Phantasma. She lost everything… even this.” Moya raises her still-functioning left hand, and in it is a silver disc.

Shizuka peers at it, taking a moment to register its shape and form. Squinting, she sees the vague outline of a humanoid figure reflected in the silver material. But it is not her reflection, nor anyone else’s.

The figure moves slightly, as if alive within the reflection. In that instant she recognizes what it is, despite never seeing one before, and snatches it from Moya’s hand. She stares. “Where did this come from!?”

“... Phantasma’s head,” Moya says, puzzled, “Like I said, you knocked it right out of her. Her Stand ability’s in this thing, apparently. ABRAXAS is gone for good now.”

“Then this really is…! Do you know what this is!?”

“Do I know what…?” she paused, then taps her forehead with her finger, “Sure I know. I’ve got one too.”

“What!!? But where did…! How?” She springs up, sitting straight on the stretcher, clutching the disc.

“Whoa, easy. You’re still injured…!”

“Moya, you have to tell me! It’s important!”

“... Brother Dust. He gives these to everyone he deems worthy. I don’t know where he found them, but they’ve been the key to his power since the beginning… I assumed you got your Stand the same way, just from a different source. Your family, I’m guessing…?”

She shakes her head. “I was born with my abilities, I’ve never even seen one of these discs in person before. But my nephew told me about them. There was a man, years ago, who used these to give people power and sent them to kill the Joestars. But he’s dead! He’s been dead for almost six years now… Where did he get these?” she says, looking up at her friend. Moya has no answer other than a scowl directed at Phantasma.

A paramedic appears and hops in the back of the ambulance. Before he can say anything, Moya steps out, taking the disc away from Shizuka as she goes. “Moya…?” she says, but gets no answer. The ambulance doors shut and the vehicle drives off, blaring its siren.

Moya, her body damaged all over, limps with purpose towards the squad cars. The officers are pushing Phantasma into the paddy-wagon. “Wait!” Moya calls, and the officers turn.

“You’re injured, Detective,” says one of the officers, raising a hand, “Let us take care--”

“Shut up! You… What is this? Where did you get it from? Where’s Dust keeping them!?” she demands, shoving the disc in Phantasma’s face. The masked woman says nothing. “Nothing to say? What’s the matter? You had so much to say before! Where are your grand fucking declarations now!?”

Receiving no answer, Moya presses harder. She steps closer and gets into her face, which remains impassive. Humbled, but still with a hint of dignity. “What was it all for? What the fuck did you do it for!?” Moya shouts, before the ache in her body catches up with her and she sways on her feet.

“Easy, Pezzente!” calls the officer. “You know the procedure! We’ll get her back to the station, then we can start asking questions! You’ve done your part for the day, Detective. Let us do ours.” Moya steadies herself, still waiting on an answer from her former mentor.

“...For you,” Phantasma says softly. Moya freezes in place and grits her teeth. Almost doubled over, she does not turn around as the luchadora is stuffed into the back of the paddy-wagon. The paramedics pull Moya back to the ambulance, as the wagon rumbles to life, and drives away.

                                                       ***

Her story was not a special one, she had grown up poor in Tijuana, worshiping luchadores on an old television set with bunny ear antennae, dreaming of standing among them. She was simply one of the few who achieved that dream.

Phantasma stares at the wall of the paddywagon. Her escorts are divided from her by a thick metal grate. She makes no attempt to speak to them, and they do not address her.

The masks drew her in, originally. Luchadores hid their faces, their true names. In doing so, they became more than simple athletes. To her, the mask was a talisman, crafted from transcendent material. Like the shamans of ancient times, in wearing the visages of the gods, became those gods, made flesh and blood. Gateways, through which she could abandon weakness. Abandon humanity.

But it was false. The masks she wore were polyester and spandex things. The matches were little more than games, entertainment for children. She was not a clown. She was extraordinary, forced to dally with the ordinary. She would not be held back by weaklings. And so she was not.

In her first title match, she hit her opponent just a bit too hard. A single palm shot to the chest. The challenger coughed, then sputtered. She kicked her legs and choked. And then she died. It mattered little. There was a place for her among the cartel, and before long, that place was at the very top. Mexico City became too small, so she extended her hand north, to San Diego, San José, and Los Angeles.

But Brother Dust, at last, shattered her illusion. She was no superhuman, no demigod. Just a foolish woman in a mask. There was power in the world beyond her comprehension. But he promised. By his hand, she would be granted that power. She would finally achieve that which she had pretended to have for so long.

Phantasma feels her face. Her flesh and bone, her human face. The one she had tried to escape from, but never had. It had been lurking underneath the entire time. She cannot remember what it looks like.

“Hey, Burnley, what's the matter?” Says the cop in the driver’s seat, breaking Phantasma from her trance. She can hear them from behind the partition. The cop glances away from the road to pat his partner on the shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Burnley groans, hunched over, clutching his guts, “I just got this cramp out of nowhere.”

“Nnh, now that you mention it, my head kinda hurts all of a sudden,” the driver rubs his temple, squinting at the road, “Ah, shit, it’s bad…! I don’t think I can drive like this. You think you can take over?”

“No way, man! Feels like my guts are tearing themselves up! God damn you, Rick, I told you we should’ve gone to Taco Bell, but you just had to try the local cuisine, didn’t you!? Oughh, Jesus, it hurts…”

Burnley leans forward, pressing his forehead on the dashboard and groans. A gurgling noise comes from his gut, so loud Phantasma can hear from. The cop starts belching. She grimaces, and turns to the wall again. She turns back sharply at the sound of Burnley belching, followed by a loud splattering.

The dash in front of Officer Burnley is soiled by a frightening quantity of blood and chunks of flesh. All of it vomited by the officer, who stares at it with dumbfounded horror. His partner, Rick, shouts at him.

“Burnley!? Burnley, what was that!? What happened?!!” The driver cries, his face similarly covered in blood, flowing from every orifice on his head. His eyes are all white and flecked with red. “I can’t see! Burnley, what’s happening?! I can’t fucking see anything!”

She listens hard, trying to discern what is happening, when a trickle of blood pours from her nostril. She dabs at it with her fingers and stares at the blood, only then noticing her hand shaking. “What? What is this?”

It is not just her hand. Everything loose in the paddy-wagon is shaking violently, as if caught in an earthquake. Burnley succumbs first, his whole body convulsing as though he was possessed. Then the driver succumbs, shaking so hard he can't even speak, let alone drive.

The wagon swerves off the road, the driver's foot stuck on the accelerator, Phantasma notices only now the convulsions in her body. Like her insides have acquired minds of their own, she feels her insides writhe, her blood vessels bursting.

As the paddy-wagon picks up speed, she slides to the back and kicks at the bolted door, again and again. For all her titanic strength, the door does not give. Dull pangs of pain run up her leg.

“No!! NO!!!” she shouts, kicking desperately, “I CANNOT DIE THIS WAY!!!”

The paddy-wagon mounts the curb and swerves, flying off balance and flipping in the air. The pedestrians have barely enough time to duck before it crash-lands upside down, halfway through the window of a fashion store.

Yet the wagon remains suffers no damage, inside or out. It remains intact, even as its occupants continue to convulse. Lying on her back, Phantasma's eyes roll into the back of her head as even her brain shakes itself into mush. This is the way she dies.

[rodimuses]

Oughh cramps