#no emeto in this one its just them talking

[bellysoupset]

Just a small Lukebell talk that I couldn't get out of my mind, not a sickfic. This happens before the fic "Max Meets The Gang"

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

"Hey handsome," Bella leaned against the doorway of their bedroom, opening a tired smile as her husband walked in, "you're home late, I was in bed already."

"Sorry," Lucas was pouting as he shut the door with his whole weight, undoing his tie, "the stupid dinner went on for forever."

She raised her eyebrows at his tone, Lucas never complained about work. He apologized for getting tied up, yes, but complain? Never, he loved it.

"Stupid dinner, yeah?" Bella walked closer, until she was in front of him and tiptoed, cupping his cheeks. He was warm and flushed, clearly a bit tipsy, "what's gotten your panties in a twist?"

He snorted at that, turning his face so he could press a kiss to the inside of her hand, "I don't know, I just wanted to be home like six hours ago and the thing wouldn't end..." he yawned, then opened a small smile, "I'm being a whiny baby, let's go to bed. You shouldn't be waiting me up."

"You know I don't sleep that early," Bella shrugged, but allowed him to throw an arm around her shoulders and pull her to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist as they waddled to the bedroom, "was your boss on your ass?"

"Nah," Luke let go of her as they entered the bedroom, starting to strip his clothes and Bella crawled back in bed, falling on her side and watching him move around. He was in a shitty mood, because normally Lucas did not make that much noise in order to get ready for bed. He was a fairly thoughtful dude and it was around midnight, not that she was too sleepy.

With a heavy sigh, he got in bed as well, kicking off the blankets and rolling so he could press his cheek to her chest, a position that had his feet sticking out from the end of the bed and Bella shaking with a chuckle. She moved her arm from under him, sinking her fingers on his dark hair and started to pet it, opening a smile as he let out an appreciative noise.

"There was a cute baby there," Lucas mumbled after a couple minutes of silence and Bella raised her eyebrows at the comment, her husband was not the type to really pay attention to kids, that would be Vince or Jonah, "curly hair like yours. I want one."

Maybe more than a bit tipsy then.

She let out a chuckle, "oh yeah? They must've been the cutest thing ever to make you say that," she squirmed slightly and Luke rolled off of her, falling on his pillow and on his side. Bella turned on hers as well, so they were nose to nose.

"Not as cute as ours would be," he wrinkled his nose and Bella let out a snort, pushing a wavy hair back and way from his eyes.

"Where are you going to put this metaphorical baby of yours, uh? The living room? This house barely fits us both, you dork," she rolled her eyes and Luke let out a heavy sigh, bumping his nose with hers.

"Then we can move to a bigger place. It makes no sense for us to be here anyway, Bell, we can afford a bigger place. Have a dog or a cat or both," he said it softly, stroking her cheek, but that didn't stop the ginger from frowning.

"You want to move?" Bella pulled back in order to look at him firmly and he hesitated for a second, before nodding.

"We outgrew this place, baby," Lucas said calmly, "a while ago, if you ask me. You know Leo calls it us roleplaying at being poor?"

Bella scoffed at that, moving away from him and sitting up against the headboard, crossing her arms to her chest and looking around the room. Realistically speaking she knew he was right. Their teeny tiny one bedroom house was a cramped place for one person, let alone two, and they had been sharing it for over a year now.

Yet... There was a little voice in her head that sounded an awful lot like his father, repeating gold-digger over and over. She chewed on her lip and startled slightly when she felt Lucas taking her hands in his, "Isa?"

"What prompted this conversation?" She asked, trying not to melt as he called her Isa, "one of your work buddies brought up where we live? What's up?"

Lucas frowned now, sobering up and sitting up, "are you implying I'm embarrassed of us?"

"Are you?" She was openly picking a fight, Bella knew it, but she couldn't help it. Kit Howard was whispering in her ear that one day Luke was going to wake up and realized he wanted better than her, that their whole romance was a phase.

"Isabella, listen to yourself," Luke rolled his eyes, sounding offended, "if I was embarrassed of us or where we live, I'd bring people around? I'd be happily living here for over a year?" he raised his eyebrows, "we're adults and we can afford a bigger place, why wouldn't we get one?"

Bella curled up, until she could hug her knees and his eyes softened at the movement, clearly realizing how insecure this conversation made her.

"Bell?"

"Over Christmas last year, when you were sick," she lowered her eyes away from his face, nervously picking at the blanket and removing imaginary lint, "your dad, he- He.." her voice trailed off and Bella shut her mouth.

Next to her, Luke let out a distraught noise, "he what? Did he say something? Did he do something?" his voice got a chilling note at the end and Bella snapped her head, shaking it from side to side. Kit Howard was a major asshole and he could be intimidating, but he hadn't touched her.

"He said you'd wake up one day and realize you could do better..." Bella mumbled, hugging herself, "and I know your dad is a jackass, but I can't help but think-"

"No," Lucas glared at her, "no. Look at me, Bella," he grabbed her chin, forcing their eyes to meet, "there's no but. My dad is an asshole and what he said isn't true. Period. He's a serial cheater who neglected his wife during her illness and who capitalized on her death. He's a shitty father and the one time I let him get in my head, I lost you and that almost killed me, so no. I'm not letting him come between us ever again."

Bella nodded, quietly, "I don't wanna go back to the apartment," she almost whispered and Luke pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head.

"Then we won't," he rubbed her back, "I'll sell it, we can pick a place together... If you're alright with it?"

Instead of answering, Bella curled up closer to him, nodding, "you promise me you're never gonna turn into him? No matter how badly we fight, no matter what happens...?"

"I'll never be Kit Howard," Lucas vowed, falling back against the pillows, "doesn't matter how badly we fight."

She melted in his embrace, pressing her nose to his neck and closing her eyes, "let's start with a dog before we level up to a whole child," Bella whispered and heard Luke chuckle, squeezing her closer.

"Yeah, that's fine by me."

[paingoes]

Crash Out - Reflection

Birthday, shower thoughts, shrooms

Paris reflects on the birthday incident and his life in general

(Content: whumper turned whumpee, (ex) royal whumpee, living weapon whumpee, whumper POV, past abuse, abuse apologism, dehumanization, beating, drugs, addiction, body image, minor emeto, suicidal ideation, guilt, death mention)

It was his birthday and the same night everything was destined to be destroyed. The Castle Thales seemed to know this and did its best to look haunted. The warmth of her presence broke through all that was the cold and crystalline. She was the only one he could stand to speak to.

Everything had been fine until they’d ended up back in the main hall and that old argument started up again.

Delta knelt at the side of the throne with the golden chain around his neck. All the bruises had been painted over carefully. He looked bored more than anything else. One hand played idly with the thread of the carpet. He did not see them come in.

Lorelai went rigid just as soon as she saw him. She pulled away from Paris as harshly as if he’d hit her.

“…You really keep him there all night?” she asked in unease.

He rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. He didn’t want to go through it again now. Not on his birthday. He wanted a single fucking night where he didn’t have to think about it.

“Yeah,” he answered flatly. Obviously.

Her expression darkened, “And you make him wear a leash.”

“Who cares?”

“I’m sure he does,” she said, “Can you imagine how he feels?”

“Oh my god, are you still on about that commie shit?” He moved one hand to his hip, his irritation deepening. He was tired of explaining this. She wouldn’t understand.

“You are mean,” she said. She said it like it was a revelation, like it was something that was supposed to surprise him. Like she was finding it out now for the first time.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“You’re worse each time I see you.” 

Something like horror was dawning in her eyes. She was the only person he cared about in the world and in that moment, he swore that he hated her.

~

One year later, in the bathroom of a rundown motel, he washed the dirt off of his hands and carefully re-bandaged all the places the skin had torn. The air was heavy with steam. It opened up the shredded membrane of his throat. It distorted his reflection.

“Can you imagine how he feels?”

The thought came to him without warning, but with the kind of day it’d been, it didn’t come as a surprise. And he couldn’t have imagined it, not really. He’d never spared Delta the time, or even the consideration.

But he was starting to. He could almost imagine it, forced down onto his knees by the barrel of a gun, the blindfold tied over his eyes. He’d treated it like it was nothing. Empire demanded sacrifice — from everyone. It was all just more of the same.

He wiped at the mirror to reveal the litany of bruises along his skin. His body was turning into a minefield of scars. It was meth thin, and tired often. He’d done such a number on it.

~

Twelve hours earlier, Lorelai’s ship had pulled down onto the clearing of the festival. For all that had happened, the partying had went on uninterrupted throughout the entire trip. She’d asked if he wanted to skip it for a little bit, since his head was fucked, and since his body was fucked, and since he’d almost died. He said no.

It didn’t take them long to disappear into the crowd, about as indistinguishable from any other pair of losers in their twenties. She could get along with anyone — and he was finding it was a lot more tolerable to talk to people when they didn’t know who he was.

They found refuge in the company of the spring-breakers. College students. They were easy to work. The fine arts student pulled a knitted pouch from within her purse.

“No. None for you. Don’t give him any,” Lorelai insisted, popping a handful of the shrooms into her mouth.

“I’m fine,” Paris said.

“No. You always freak out.”

“I’m literally fine.”

“Don’t give him any.”

They waited until her back was turned before making the handover. 

“I took it,” he said, the moment she turned back.

“Are you fucking crazy?!”

~

“You know what? Fine.” He yanked at the chain around Delta’s neck, harder than he needed to. He slid the key into the lock. The chain clattered loudly to the floor.

“Fuck both of you.”

He stormed out. It was freezing on Thales that night and he could barely feel it. He was hot. He was burning all the way through the wood path.

He stomped up the ramp of the ship and all the way to his room.

Empire demanded everything. It would erode away at any happiness he might’ve gotten, any other life he might’ve had. He would give and give and give and get nothing and still keep at it endlessly. He’d made his peace with it. 

He thought he did.

And still he thought he might have her. 

Empire would rob him of that too. It was the final intrusion, one final act of self denial.

He handled it with all the grace of someone off six different stimulants.

He tore his room apart and he took everything in it. He was in the grip of it. All the scorn and betrayal bubbled up and coiled and burned. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

She belonged to him. 

They both did. 

~

Through the thin walls of the motel room, he could hear her on the other side. She laughed softly, her voice indistinct as she took the call.

She could never know. He’d tell her almost anything, but this she could never know. 

He tried to imagine saying it to her now. He tried to imagine telling her what he’d done that night. The fear and the shame coursed through him like ice. He never could. 

Everything he owned fit inside of the trunk of her ship. There was so little that belonged to him anymore. 

~

The shrooms crept up on them about midway through the set. They hit her first. He saw the way her eyes dilated, the little mania that crept into her movements, and knew he did not have long to go. Sure enough, the colors shifted, and the strange vibrations through his body picked up in synch with the bass.

He thought it was fine. In the busyness and brightness of the crowd, he could almost forget that it was his destiny to freak out each time he went on psychs. It was only as the sky darkened and the music quieted that he felt it crawling.

They were in the woods. Why hadn’t he realized it until now? He stumbled back to the college kids’ little outpost and found that they were surrounded by woods on all sides. He was on the ground. He was in the dirt. Something large and tiger shaped crested in his periphery. Something dog-headed flashed behind his closed eyes — and the harder he tried to push the thought from his mind, the more it wanted to stay. He whined miserably into his crossed arms, hiding his face in the grass.

“I told you not to take it,” Lorelai sighed, combing her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, meaning it. 

“Shh,” she said. She kissed his temple. “Just ride it out.”

~

It was so easy to blame Delta. He’d gotten into the habit of it. And Delta took it so endlessly. He never fought back. 

Paris would never be happy. He’d known it for a long time. Empire demanded sacrifice. It demanded and demanded and demanded. Paris would give to it endlessly, everything. He did everything for it.

He was so fucking sick of it.

He did not dream of a better life. He dreamed of dying. He dreamed of crashing the ship into the side of a mountain and killing everyone onboard. He dreamed of unlocking Delta’s collar at the ball and unleashing upon all of them a fury that they’d all done everything to deserve. He dreamed of death in a million different ways.

Paris hated his life. He hated Empire and that nuclear bomb they had built up in his brain, the child they’d ripped from his home and turned into a machine, the fucking symbol of all that had ever gone wrong. Real evil burns and coils and glows. It destroyed cities and cut civilians in half. It cauterized wounds and bled from the mouth. It was down there now, with one of Lorelai’s hands pressed up against its own.

Because Delta was so fucking blameless. He’d never had a choice, he heard Lorelai’s voice in falsetto.

What fucking choice had he had, either? Delta got to be blameless. And he got to be worse each time I see you. He got to be mean.

He did the last of the line off of the cracked sink.

He’d show them fucking mean.

~

He felt around in the space between his ribs. He traced careful fingers over the star-shaped scar on his chest and then again over the bandages on his palm. It still hurt nearly too much to touch. He didn’t know when it would heal again. They’d stitched it up for him at CTRL and they had not even done it painfully. He hadn’t understood why. He still didn’t understand why.

The word mercy tasted sour against his tongue. It spun sickly within his mind. 

Wasn’t he just a little bit disappointed when the gun was removed from his mouth, when his life was extended any longer than it had to be?

And wasn’t he so devastated when he learned that he was spared?

He traced the scratches along his arms. Delta’s claws had gotten in deep. It was some of the last traces of him left on the earth. All the rest was buried at the bottom of the ocean.

It wasn’t fair.

He didn’t deserve it.

~

One of the art students gave him a sketchpad just to shut him up. He took it, grateful to give any form to the horrific intrusions.

He drew wolves, mostly. Wolf heads. Lorelai laid down on the grass beside him. The others were sprawled out a bit further away. 

She wanted to share the paper with him. He held it in between the two of them. His drawings were scary, at first. All the wolves had eyes in their throat. All the lions had teeth like knives.

But she filled in the empty space with vines and flowers until it looked like a jungle you’d find in a children’s book. She said she wished they had paint. He remembered she’d been good at that. They’d have gotten a lot of mileage out of it. 

He felt his fear dwindling. He felt guilty that he let it.

He knew he freaked out whenever he took it. He did that with most things, really. Did he even like drugs? Why had he taken it?

~

Paris barely heard him. So much adrenaline coursed through his system that even seeing felt like an impossibility. He didn’t bother holding back anymore. He didn’t want to.

The impact broke the mirror open and scattered the shards all across the floor. He threw Delta roughly down on top of the broken pieces, not caring. The glass crunched beneath his boots, crystalline, iridescence.

Everything was ruined. Everything was ruined and there was no coming back. There was no hope.

He pulled his leg back and drove it straight into the side of Delta’s rib, listening for the crack that followed. He hated it. He hated all of this so much he could not stand it. He was spiraling, he knew, completely lost in the goddamn tantrum. He didn’t care. He wished they’d both just fucking die.

He yanked at Delta’s collar again, dragging him into the bathroom. He was going on about some shit that Paris didn’t understand, that he couldn’t even begin to care about. If he’d been listening, if he’d really been anywhere but inside his own head, he might’ve noticed that Delta had been crying. That he’d started begging. He didn’t notice. He took a rough handful of his hair, forcing his head back down whenever he squirmed too much.

The water reached the rim, and he’d forced his head under that, too.

Delta laid gasping within the tub, the thick strands of his hair slick and wet across his face, his wrists bound up in chains. He’d tried to speak again. He couldn’t. Paris clamped a hand over his mouth. He didn’t want him to speak, to interrupt his own spiral. He wanted to feel it all, to drown in it.

“I hate you,” he said.

And Delta’s eyes got wide, probably wondering what he’d done wrong, as if it’d ever been about him at all.

~

He tried to throw up, but nothing could come out. He hadn’t eaten in days. It’d become habit. His hands were shaking and his nose was bloody and the hot steam of the bathroom made it so that there was no coolness to the tiles. He felt no relief even as he pressed his skin against them, as badly as he wanted to lie down on the floor and never get up. He was sick.

He could still hear Lorelai through the door, the faint sound of the phone call, and of her music playing in the background. She seemed to know, always. He heard her rising up from the bed, a gentle knock at the door.

“Paris?” she called softly through it.

He winced, closed his eyes. How could he ever begin to tell her?

He was sick.

~

Did he even like drugs? He asked himself this again and again, still sprawled out on the grass, still with her beside him. The night was on in earnest now. Thousands of stars peppered the sky. The music student said there would be a meteor shower tonight. Maybe they’d get lucky.

Why had he fought so hard and so fiercely? They’d come all this way, across a hundred different planets, across an entire year. He’d dragged her from her home and across the galaxy. It was such a desperate bid.

He must have wanted to live. This was the behavior of someone who wanted to live.

And so why had he gotten drunk every night of the trip, and each night before that, ever since he turned fifteen? He’d taken the pills off the street when he could afford to pay for the real thing. He’d forgone the test kits, when it was no trouble for him to get them. He’d taken more than he should and he’d picked fights he couldn’t win. He’d spent hours prodding at Delta, at an atom bomb, just hoping for something-

He hoped the ship would crash sometimes. He hoped the stars they passed would explode without warning. He hoped for one thing, desperately, and he had for as long as he could remember.

I want to die.

It was a quiet admission. He could only say it in his head. Lorelai was tripping too hard, it would throw her in a bad way. But as it surfaced, there was no way to submerge it again. It rose up all at once.

Death evaded him. It was denied to him. Was he ever relieved afterwards? He wasn’t. He hadn’t been.

The world was cruel as it was endless — and it was out for him. He would die just as stupid and evil as everyone else had been.

But then they’d been so careful when they pulled him out of the grave. They’d bandaged his hand and stitched it without hurting him, even when they had every right to. They’d given him blood from their veins when his own had run out.

Lorelai’s hot tears had fell onto the bare skin of his clavicle. She’d clung to him when he was found. She didn’t want to see him in pain. In spite of everything.

She killed for him.

I want to die.

And as soon as he admitted it, he didn’t want it anymore.

“Lorry, I think I need to get sober,” he said.

She turned over in the grass, whining a little bit.

“Me tooooooo. Why is it lasting so long?”

“No, like, permanently.”

“Oh.” She poked her head up. “Are you serious?”

His hand rested against his chest. He could feel his heart beating beneath it, quick and painful. The same frantic rhythm it’d been honing for years. He nodded.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

Her face turned back into the grass. He looked back up into the sky, waiting for his heart to settle down, waiting for meteors. Absently, her hand reached out for his own.

~

On the morning after his birthday party, Paris woke up with sick clarity, and he knew he’d done something he could never take back.

One week later, Delta was dead and the kingdom was lost.

~

Paris stood up roughly from the bathroom floor. He pulled a clean shirt over his head and combed his hair out with his fingers. 

As he looked up into the clouded mirror, he remembered the shards that had spilled out onto the floor of Delta’s room. He’d broken the mirror.

Seven years of bad luck.

He was sure he’d earned himself so much more than that.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen

[writing-whump]

Waking up

Isaiah wakes up after the operation. Mention of open chest wound, though not too detailed. Emeto down below.

Matthew sat down on the chair. Then got up just as quickly, barely stopping himself from pacing.

Seline sat straight on the other side, hands next to Isaiah's. She knew he had the operation, she was wrapping her head around the heart problems...but seeing it, seeing him like this, pale, unresponsive, with sterile thin gauze covering the long opening wound in the center of his chest...a gaping long line, like a bloody chasm-

Matthew gulped down audibly, gaze jumping from one corner of the room to the other.

Seline gave him an angry look. "You can't throw up here. If you can't stand it, go away."

Matthew flinched. He flinched almost everytime she spoke to him since the first talk with the doctor.

"No. I-I can take it." The red-haired man set his jaw resolutely, glaring at the opposite wall. After a minute he dared to flick his gaze towards Isaiah again. Like he was building up a tolerance to that sight.

Seline let out a tiny sigh. On some level she relized she was pretty hard on him. Espcially now, when they had bigger problems. But something about her seething resentment towards Matthew held her together. It was an easier emotion to focus on than the breath-taking sense of betrayal or stomach-clenching fear for Isaiah.

Or the horrible guilt in the back of her neck, like pressure gathering that told her this was all her damn fault for not noticing on her own.

For not being close enough, present enough to witness this, to help, to be someone they wanted help from.

Matthew was back on the chair, squirming on it. He braced his elbows on the matrass next to Isaiah taking slow measured breaths through his mouth.

Shouldn't blood be an easier sight for wolves?

Seline didn't know why it didn't bother her that much. There was more of a fascinated distant mortification that was a hole to Isaiah's inner organs, only with a bit of sterile gauze to protect it. She had to actively force herself to look away, cause it kept dragging her eyes towards it like a magnet.

Time lost all its meaning. Bodily functions didn't have any effect on them. There was no way either of them could eat or sleep or leave, and ignoring any tiredness in face of the tension in her back or Matthew's gritted teeth was easy.

This was the most alert emergency mode and it would probably crush them later. But right now the adrenaline was like 10 coffees in their veins.

So Seline had no idea how much time actually passed—it could have been a few minutes or two hours—when Isaiah started shifting around on the bed.

A soft groan escaped him and his eyes fluttered for a minute as he fought the grogginess.

Seline and Matt were both standing by that point, each from one side, breaths held back.

"Isaiah?" Seline called out softly.

Isaiah's face scrunched up, but his eyes finally opened. "Hmm? Where..." He looked to her, then to Matthew, scanning the room in confusion.

His eyes drifted downwards to his chest, the hospital gown, the blanket draped over him, several tubes and IVs sticking out of his hands.

The machine he was hooked to started beeping immediately as Isaiah's breath caught in shock.

Seline's put her hand against his cheek, coaxing him to look up at her. "Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, alright? At me, not there. You are fine, you are safe, everything’s gonna be okay."

Matthew's hand was on his shoulder, applying the gentlest pressure.

"What'-what's-"

"You had a surgery after a heart attack," Seline settled on the truth. "But everything worked out. It was successful. You are okay and gonna be completely okay."

"Why-why is that-" His green eyes were wide and his breathing was hitching from how fast it came.

Matthew grabbed Isaiah's forearm, palm wrapped around his elbow. Isaiah's fingers curled into Matthew's shirt in a vice grip.

Seline mirrored the movement, taking Isaiah's other hand into hers, the other still on his face, stroking gently up and down his cheek. "Shhhhh. We are here. We are here. You will be alright in no time. They are just letting some pressure and swelling up. It will go down and they will stich you up in a few hours. Your shadow will heal everything and you'll be all good in no time."

Isaiah's head twitched in her hand towards Matthew, like he wanted to check it added up.

Seline knew, she knew how close they were, all three together. That this was good, having them both by his side. She had never felt threatened by the closeness Matthew and Isaiah shared. All the experiences and commonalities, the quiet understanding, the open affection.

Now it made her feel like an outsider, disgusting bitter taste in her mouth.

"It burns..." Isaiah said, mouth twisting, looking at Matthew. He was gripping his hand like he was about to break it. "Like silver."

"Yeah, I know, buddy," Matthew said gently, his face drawn in pained lines. "They had to use silver cause your shadow was healing up all they did, even sedated."

Isaiah looked ready to cry at that admission.

"But not the opening wound," Seline interjected. The doctor's explanation ran through her mind nonstop. "Just around the blocked artery. Once they sew up your chest, the anesthesia wears off and you will be able to heal it up with your shadow. It will be just around the heart that will take a bit. But patients after these operations get home quickly, in just a few days after."

Isaiah nodded shakily, his breathing still fast, but not rising anymore. His hold on her hand tightened.

Seline brushed some of the black curls out of his face, then kissed his forehead. "Everything's alright. You are safe. We're right here and not leaving."

Isaiah looked towards the ceiling. "I don't like hospitals," he said, lips twitching in an attempted smile that couldn't hold.

"Nobody does, man," Matt said quietly.

Isaiah swallowed heavily, lips chapped and dry. He squirmed in their hold like he was testing how much he could move.

His body jerked suddenly and he looked down and up again, breathing in deeply.

"Shhhhhh. What is it?" Seline said, trying to catch his attention with her hand still pressed against the side of his face, thumb rubbing up his temple.

"My mom." Isaiah forced his eyes closed than opened them to little slits like the light was too much. "She-she was in a hospital with her heart...send her home and she died of it." The jittery twitchy quality to his movements was persisting, his head flinching towards Matthew. "Am I going to die?"

Matthew paled more than Isaiah's hospital sheets. "No! Of course not. No way we are letting you die, right, Sel?"

Isaiah's eyes went to hers in such fearful hope her heart squeezed, eyes burning. "You are not dying, baby. You are very strong, very resilient. They are taking good care of you."

"We wouldn't let them hurt you," Matthew said in a gruff voice. "Promise."

Isaiah looked towards the ceiling, straining in their hold with involuntary movements. "I want to go home," he said in a small voice.

"We will go home soon," Seline reassured him, leaned down to kiss his forehead. "It won't take long. You'll go to sleep for a minute, your shadow will come back and them you will heal up completely at home. All good."

"We won't leave your side for a second," Matthew added. He was focusing on Isaiah's face intentely to not mind the covered wound. He held Isaiah's forearm still up in the air with one hand, rubbing his shoulder with the other steadily.

"Hurts..." Isaiah whined. A single tear slid down his cheek on the side she was stroking it. "I don't feel good."

Seline thumbed the tear away, pressing her forehead gently to his. "Just keep looking at us, okay? None of this is important. You are okay."

"Want to go home," Isaiah repeated. The coherence was waning, his voice growing weaker. He blinked in exhaustion, another tear coming up.

Seline fought tears of her own with all she had, heart beating painfully against his ribs. She let go of Isaiah's hand in order to push the call button on the side.

It felt horrible, cause knowing he was awake, they would sedate him and check him if they could close the wounds...which was good, but it scared her that he would be closing his eyes again so soon.

Isaiah shuddered as the doors opened, people rushing in. "I don't-I don't want-"

"Just for a bit, buddy," Matthew said softly, cupping the side of Isaiah's face for a second before letting go. "We'll be here, when you wake up. First thing you see, I swear."

When the whole team of people came fussing over, Seline was forced to let go of Isaiah's hand. She never wanted to be a doctor more than in that moment to just know what was happening, what they were doing with the IVs, what they were checking him for.

A nurse ushered them out, saying they were about to roll him away to close the chest.

Seline stood in the hallway a little lost how quickly everything was happening.

A muffled groan interrupted her thoughts.

Matthew was leaning against the wall with an arm, pressing his palm against his lips with a nauseous expression.

He really held out that long for Isaiah, hadn't he?

Seline's heart wrenched at the realisation. She stepped closer, putting her hand on his elbow. "Come on. I saw a bathroom on the way."

Matthew let her steer him away from the wall to the small one-stall bathroom around the corner. She shut the door behind them to give them privacy, glad she could follow him in.

Matthew gagged against his hand, lowered himself down to the toilet in haste and burped emptily over it. "Ugh."

Seline hesitated, but then crouched down next to him as Matt shivered, gagging again. "That was a horrible sight," she agreed.

Matthew hiccuped, burying his head inside the bowl. His shoulders rolled with another empty gag. Then another muffled noise that sounded dangerously close to a sob.

Seline winced, risking to put her hand in the middle of his back. Her eyes were burning and her throat was all closed up. "Just get it up. You'll feel better in a minute. Deep breaths."

Matthew's shoulders hitched, wrapping both hands around his stomach as he heaved and heaved.

It made her suddenly wonder how much of this was Matthew's shadow reacting badly to stress, to having so many strangers around. How much did the pack behaviour play into this? Stressing him about the fact that was their pack leader too?

Shadow wolves weren't good with strained situations, emotions running amok easily. And Matthew's shadow was a hassle on good days.

She rubbed his back up and down gently, then added more pressure, thumping at his shoulder blades.

The motion ushered up a sickly burp and finally a gush of vomit spilled out.

"There you go," Seline said, stroking wide circles on his back.

Matthew let out a whine. His stomach was gurgling so loudly it echoed through the tiny bathroom. His whole back arched into her hand as another wave of sick splattered into the toilet, liquid against liquid.

He coughed against a choking noise before straightening up, nose and lips dripping with saliva.

Seline tore a bunch of toilet paper and handed it over. When he didn't take it, she gently dabbed at his face on her own, then threw it into the toilet and flushed.

"A bit better now?"

Matthew swayed dizzily, grabbing onto the porcelain rim for support. His eyes were glazed over and shimmering with moisture.

Seline made a move to stand. "I'll get you some water."

His hand on her wrist stopped her. Matthew didn't tug at it, just held it weakly. "Wait."

She lowered herself back to her knees with a sigh. "What is it?"

"Just-just stay." He looked away in shame, sniffling. "Please."

Even her anger didn't reach that far. And after seeing Isaiah rolled away with that gaping hole in his chest...

She pulled her hand out of his grasp only to take it properly. A tiny squeeze.

Matthew hang his head, not looking up, his elbow braced against the toilet seat. His breathing was evening out and he didn't seem so nauseous anymore.

Seline couldn't stand that look no longer, reaching over impulsively to wrap her arms around him.

Matthew gasped in suprise before letting himself sink into her embrace. His hands came around her waist, pressing tightly like that was all that he wanted the whole time.

"It's okay. We're gonna be okay," she said into his hair, burying her nose into it. She hadn't realized how much she craved this, how much more complete she felt with Matt pressed against her like this.

They held onto each other in that tiny bathroom, Isaiah's tears fresh in their minds.

[sunshiline-writes]

A Rose Amidst Thorns #15: A New Set of Rules

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Synopsis: Miguel gets a set of new rules. And learns exactly what he is in this hierarchy

CW: Dehumanization, like HEAVY dehumanization plz be safe, cigarettes, whumpee used as an ashtray, graphic description of mouth burns, EMETO (its kinda nasty so just.. be careful again), forced alcohol consumption, conditioning, altered state of mind, whumper POV

Something had to change. Everything was out of control. Solomon had tried to take his wife. Henrietta thought that somehow, that was fine. Miguel kept fighting back. All of them kept fighting back. It was getting exhausting. It was going to get worse if Xavier didn’t put a stop to it now. 

Separating the three of them had been the first step. Solomon was sleeping away his illness in his bedroom. Henrietta no longer had keys to any of the rooms in the house. Even if she wanted to visit him, the threat of death Xavier had loomed over him, kept her at bay for now. Miguel, was back in the hayloft, chained down like the dog he was. 

Solomon and Henrietta were easy enough to deal with. But Miguel was proving to be more and more of a problem. He was getting restless. Starting to test the waters as he always did. Xavier preferred him half dead or dissociated to the point where he was a shell of a human. Three days ago, he’d thrown the food he’d been given at Abraham, who’d been on food duty that day.  

Today, Xavier would be delivering Miguel’s first meal since then. It had been two weeks since The Solomon incident. After he’d carried Miguel’s unconscious body into the hayloft and clamped the manacle around his ankle, Xavier had deemed it better to leave the kid alone. He needed time to heal. If he looked at him, Xavier was going to smash his head into the wall. 

He was calmer now. Calculating. He brought up the tray of food to the hayloft, balancing it against his hip with one hand, grabbing the ladder with the other. Xavier wasn’t surprised to see Miguel curled in on himself, asleep on the cot that had been provided. He brought the tray of food next to the cot, leaving it on the floor. 

This had been Miguel’s first room at the Reede Ranch. Thirteen years old and all fire and fury. He had proved himself, gaining a nice cog in the closet in the hallway. Inside where it was warm at night. Where he could join them for breakfast at the table like a human. He had earned that respect. But now, he was back in the hayloft, the metaphorical dog house. Too much trouble. Too many mistakes had been made. Now corrections had to be made. 

Gently, Xavier ran a hand through Miguel’s hair.

“Wake up kid. We gotta talk,” he said as soon as Miguel’s eyes focused enough that he was sure the kid was listening. 

A frown lined his features as he slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. Bare feet resting on the wood floor. Good hand gripping the edge of the cot, his other hand resting in his lap. It was still healing. Stupidly slowly, but Solomon had said that it would. Still though, it was annoying. It had been two months, and that hand was still proving to be useless. 

“Are you hungry?” Xavier asked as Miguel glanced at the food. 

The boy nodded, eyes wary. Good. 

“You can eat in a moment. But right now? We’re gonna set some new rules for you. Yeah?” Xavier didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “I think you’ve forgotten your place here. The fact that you’re at the bottom of the hierarchy.” 

Miguel’s throat bobbed slightly. The bruising had faded to an ugly yellowish color, but it was still there. A testimony to when Xavier had lost a bit of control. Nearly killing the boy. 

“You’re the dog here. So here are the rules. You do what I tell you, when I tell you. This isn’t new, but I think you need a reminder. If I tell you to sit, you sit. If I say roll over? Fucking roll over.” Xavier took a deep breath, “I’m going to bringing your food everyday from now on. Unless I’m on business then it’ll be Jesse. When you see us coming up that ladder? You greet us on your knees.” Xavier paused, searching for a reaction. 

Miguel’s frown deepened, eyes widening slightly. He opened his mouth slightly, seemingly in an attempt to protest. But Xaviers glare must have been enough of a warning, as he snapped his mouth shut. The boy worked his jaw, gritting his teeth. 

Xavier smiled. Miguel at least knew better than to argue. 

“Why don’t you practice right now? On your knees mutt.” 

There was a moment, a precious moment of Miguel, staring up at him. Eyes wide. Cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. At this moment, he didn’t know if Miguel would surrender, or follow the order. Not until slowly, the kid lowered himself to his knees. Head hanging on his chest. Teeth grinding against each other so hard, Xavier could hear it clearly. 

Xavier reached down to grab Miguel’s chin, forcing him to look at him. 

“Look at me when I talk to you. You’re so pathetic. Look at you. Groveling at my feet,” Xavier can’t help himself when he laughs, thumb idly tracing Miguel’s jaw. “You look better like this. Okay, back to the rules. If you mention Solomon or Henrietta to me. I will beat their names out of your thoughts. They don’t exist anymore. Not unless I say so. You’re not going to see them for a long, long time. So better get used to it. If I see their names in your hands, I’ll break them again. Nod if you understand.” 

There were tears in Miguel’s eyes, making them shine in the dull light. Slowly, he nodded. Bottom lip quivering. Since when has Miguel been so pretty when he cried? Xavier watched as the tears overflowed and slowly started down Miguel’s cheeks. He leaned forward, licking them away with his tongue. 

“Don’t cry.. it’s fine. All you need is me anyway. I own you. You’re mine. You were never Solomons, or Henrietta’s. Or even Jesse’s. You’ve always been mine,” Xavier stated plainly. He let go of Miguel’s jaw. Watching him idly. “If you’re ever in the house again, you don’t sit on the furniture. You’re only allowed your cot in here. Otherwise, you stay on the floor where you belong.” 

Xavier sighed, pulling out a cigarette and a match from his shirt pocket. Then he lit it. Taking in a puff and relishing in the wave of relief that coursed through him. He leaned down and blew out the smoke in Miguel’s face. His nose scrunched and he coughed. Xavier laughed. Taking a seat on Miguel’s cot with a creak. 

“Come here,” he called to him, waving him over to the spot in between his legs. There was a moment of hesitation, Miguel’s expression twisting into one of apprehension. “I said come here Miguel.” 

Slowly, Miguel shuffled on his knees in between Xavier’s legs. “Whenever Jesse comes in? You do what he says. If you fight, or hurt him in anyway, I’ll take your tongue. Not like you need it anyway,” he said as he took another drag. Blowing it again in Miguel’s face. Again, Miguel nodded, adams apple bobbing up and down. Xavier was half hard in his pants. But.. he wasn’t here for that. Not today. 

“Open your mouth Miguel.” 

Another moment of hesitation. The boy swallowed thickly, before slowly opening his mouth. “Close your eyes and stick your tongue out, mutt.” 

A whimper came from the back of the boy's throat that sent a heat to Xavier's core. Still, Miguel complied, eyes closing and tongue sticking out. His breathing was hard. Miguel was panting like a dog too. 

Xavier took one more drag from his cigarette, then promptly put the burning end out on Miguel’s tongue. One hand grabbed Miguel by the throat, the other on his shoulder to hold him still. His eyes shot open and he screamed. Closing his mouth shut and accidentally taking the cigarette into his mouth. Xavier slammed a hand over his mouth and nose. Growling. 

“I didn’t say you could open your eyes, or close your mouth.. so now you have to swallow it.” 

Miguel shook his head, trying to free himself of Xavier's hand. Falling backward, Xavier followed him, straddling him and only pushing the hand harder on his face. 

“Swallow it or suffocate your choice kid.” 

The boy whined, tears starting to flow freely down his face again. Xavier wrapped a hand around his throat, gently squeezing. Finally he saw the boy swallow, felt it slide down his throat. Then he let the boy go. Stepping off him and watching Miguel roll on his side and cough harshly. Miguel started to retch, good hand holding onto his stomach. Xavier watched with disinterest until the boy finally stilled for a moment, pressing his forehead into the hay covered floor. He retched another time, and this time bile, ash, and the cigarette was in a puddle on the floor.  

His hand was rubbing circles on his chest as he sat himself up on his knees. Xavier didn’t care about that though. He moved to the front of Miguel, crouching just in front of the vomit on the floor. 

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” 

Every part of Miguel was trembling, his eyes glassy. Xavier reached out to him, gripping at his hair, before slamming his face downwards. He held his face down in the vomit. That was what people did to bad dogs right? Shove them in their own sick? Miguel was fully sobbing now, but he wasn’t struggling, instead he just laid there. There was a feeling of satisfaction at that. He let Miguel’s hair go. Watching as Miguel slowly let himself sit up again.  “I’ll bring you a bucket and a towel to clean yourself up.” 

With trembling hands, he signed a simple ‘thank you’ to Xavier. 

“When I come back, your food better be gone. And you’ll be on your knees waiting for me right?” 

A sniffle and a nod is what he got in response. It was good enough. Xavier stood up and left. He took a little longer to get the supplies he needed. It would give Miguel a chance to collect himself, to breathe. Sometimes with Miguel, leaving him alone was just as useful as spending every moment with him. The kid was someone who tended to get trapped in his own thoughts. Spiraling lower and lower if left alone in the right environment. Xavier’s sister was similar in that way. When they were younger, she’d follow him around because her thoughts were always too loud. 

When he came back, Miguel was already on his knees, chin against his chest. His plate of simple sliced apples and goat cheese was gone. He didn’t think that anything heavier would sit well in Miguel's stomach. His eyes glanced up from the ground and met Xaviers. Xavier smiled, dropping the bucket with water next to them. Miguel jumped a little when it landed.

Slowly, he reached out to grab the towel and squeeze the excess as best he could with one hand. Miguel started with his face and neck, being careful over sore spots, still trying to get everything off his skin. He didn’t dare look at Xavier as he did so. The only noise for a few minutes was the sound of the rag being dipped into the bucket, squeezed and rubbed against Miguel's skin. He didn’t stop until Xavier waved him over, between his legs again. “Open your mouth for me,” he ordered. 

This time, Miguel did not hesitate as he opened his mouth. Xavier could see it there, the blister on his tongue. White and bubbled. His whole tongue was red and irritated as well. Xavier grabbed Miguel’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting his head up slightly to look more clearly. 

“Does it hurt?” Xavier asked, slowly, enunciating clearly for the boy to see. 

The boy nodded, swallowing thickly. His breath was shaky, hot on Xavier’s hand. His free hand went to his belt, where his flask was. Lately, he’d been carrying it around more often. He twisted it open with his teeth. First, he held it over his mouth, about to tip it in. “If you spit it out, or if any drops. You’re licking it off the floor.” 

Then he poured it inside Miguel’s open and waiting mouth. If Miguel could scream, Xavier was sure he would have. But he was forced to let the alcohol coat his mouth. Swallowing with a choked gasp. Everytime Miguel swallowed and tried to take a breath, Xavier poured more down his throat. Making sure it coated his tongue. Miguel’s face was flushed red and his eyes glazed by the time Xavier poured the last bit down his throat. Finally letting go of Miguel’s face. “Repeat the rules back to me.. All the new ones. I want you to remember.” 

Miguel squinted up at Xavier’s lips, whimpering slightly. Xavier waited. Watching him carefully. The boy swayed slightly from his position on the floor. He shook his head and groaned lightly, resting his head on Xavier’s knee.  

“No no..” Xavier said, cupping Miguel's face and once again making the boy look at him. “I need you to tell me. It’s best you do it now. Once that whiskey really kicks in, I doubt you’ll remember your own name. You’re a lightweight,” he finished with a chuckle. 

Miguel blinked a few times, Xavier could see him thinking hard through the fog of the alcohol. He could be patient, he could wait for him to answer. This was just a test. Finally, after a moment and a short grunt, Miguel lifted his hand to finger spell a rule. 

“It’s okay if it’s not the whole rule, you can just sign the basics,” he assured softly. 

Miguel nodded and shut his eyes tightly, probably hit by a wave of dizziness. But the boy was starting to finger spell the basic rules. 

Always listen, no hurting Jesse, knees when you come in.

“You’re forgetting some Miguel,” Xavier whispered softly. Miguel swallowed thickly again, resting his head in the palm of his hand. He shook his head, whimpering. “You can do it sweetheart.” 

No Solomon. No Hen. No furniture.

Xavier grinned, all teeth and fondness. It seeped through everything. Miguel did know how to listen apparently. Despite the obvious issue with his hearing, he was a good listener. His eyes were fluttering shut, full body weight on his hand now. The only thing holding up Miguel's head was Xavier at this point. “I’m gonna ask you to do one more thing, just one more question for me sweetheart, can you do that?” Miguel groaned, a choked sound coming from him. “I know you’re tired. Just one more thing.” 

His eyes drooped but he lifted his head higher to look at him. “Good boy. What are you?” 

Miguel made a face of confusion, brain moving slowly, face contorting with realization as he shook his head. The immediate regret of that action, making him groan and his eyes roll backwards for a moment. Xavier removed his hand from holding up Miguel, and the kid slumped against his knee, slowly sliding down his leg. He made the sign for ‘please’ clumsily. Xavier stared down in contempt, kicking Miguel onto his back. He resting his spur on his shoulder, pressing it into the skin there.  

“What are you Miguel?” 

A sob emitted from the squirming thing beneath his boot. Coming fully from his chest as he lifted his good hand to grab at Xavier’s boot. He sighed, pressing the spur harder into Miguel's shoulder, a small pinprick of blood started to surround the spur. Miguel groaned and turned his face away from Xavier. But finally, he answered, signing, “Dog”. 

Xavier laughed, standing up from his seat and straddling Miguel. Grabbing his face, and leaning forward, they were so close he could smell the whiskey he poured on the boys breath. 

“Again.” 

Dog. 

“Again.”  

Dog. 

“One more time sweetheart.” 

Miguel was fully sobbing now, tears streaking down his face. Snot running down his lips. Truly pathetic. Just how Xavier liked him. He gently leaned forward again, pressing a soft kiss to Miguel’s forehead. 

Dog. I am a dog.  

“Good boy Miguel. Good boy.” 

Now they could start again. Fresh. New rules, new dog. It was a whole new start. 

Everything was going to be different now. In a good way. In the best way they could be. Because now, all each of them had was him. That was all they were ever going to need from now on.

___ Taglist:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump @whumpbees @whumplr-reader

ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

[dutifullyshamelessearthquake]

(Heya, it's Aery)

So Im Not the anon that just sent a generalized 'sick tighnari' recently, but as Ive been casually embroiled in my own sick tighnari writing i Am curious! do you have any major head canons for him?

either for canon or for your modern au

(fun fact! you are the first person with a major modern au in any fandom Ive ever read more than the tiniest bit of bc I usually stay deep in canonverse. it's so good! I just had to gush a bit here ><)

Oh I'll take any excuse to talk more about one of my favourite boys, hehe! I've actually been thinking more and more about doing some writing actually situated in the canon universe, so this is a good opportunity to jot down some headcanons for canon Tighnari! (Don't get me wrong, I adore my modern au and it's not going anywhere, but the itch to write something more canon has recently started poking its head out.)

I did just compile a list of emeto-specific headcanons for Tighnari in my modern AU here, for those who want to check those out!

Also omg that means a lot to me!! I'm so happy you enjoy modern au!! Thank you so much! (Honestly I need to properly name it at some point)

- Tighnari's ears move a lot, twitching at sounds, turning this way and that when he's listening to things, etc. But when it comes to showing emotion, he fights them from moving so freely. He doesn't like the idea of people knowing how he's feeling because of the movement of his ears or tail for that matter. If you catch him actually pinning his ears back or flattening them, you caught him at a really bad time. The opposite is also true, if something made his tail actually wag, that had to be something huge.

- We all like to hyperfixate on his sensitive hearing, but his sense of smell is definitely also spectacular. It's saved him from accidentally eating something that's gone off, multiple times.

- Despite how much loud noises hurt his sensitive ears, Tighnari never covers them with something. Anything that remotely muffles the sound feels like taking away one of his biggest defenses. He simply doesn't like it.

- Tighnari really easily adapts to sleeping in unfamiliar places. Camping out in the rainforest is no less comfortable than his own bed.

- He has excellent night vision, and quite enjoys doing the occasional overnight patrol. But despite having a handful of built in nocturnal instincts, he still prefers to primarily sleep at night and work during the day.

[ethereousdelirious]

Goooood morning, V.ax anon!

This is a little shorter than I wanted, but it's done! I sincerely hope you like it!!!

For the rest of y'all: cw for emeto

Fate— the nature of it…. Ultimate fate, all of them dead. Everyone Vax cared about, one at a time, and he—

He could do nothing but watch.

With last rites still ringing in his ears, Vax jerked awake. Darkness met him, and cold sweats, and— where was Keyleth? He shouldn't be so cold, not if she was there. He sat up, reached out for her, hands shaking… Yes, there.

Her body heat warmed his palm, but it wasn't as reassuring as it should have been. A wave of nausea and dread washed over Vax and his stomach clenched involuntarily.

“Vax?” The sound of Keyleth shifting against the covers filtered through the ringing in his ears. “Are you okay? You're kinda hurting me.”

“Sorry, Kiki,” he breathed, and clenched his eyes shut against another wave of dizziness. He couldn't… Couldn't catch his breath, couldn't— It was like that first moment after getting stabbed, that little moment between the adrenaline and the pain. This horrible, sickening dizziness that slowly gave way to the narcotic of blood loss. But this wasn't going away. With every passing second, the room still spun, his heart still pounded, and his nausea got steadily worse.

No…

That was going to cause problems in its own right.

“Vax?” Keyleth was holding him now. When had that happened? Then gentle weight of her, usually so calming, was nothing but unbearable pressure on his back, compressing his lungs. He couldn't bear to shake her off so he breathed deeper, faster. “Vax, what's wrong?”

“I, I, ah.” He didn't have the breath to explain himself. “Nightmare.” Another wave of nausea doubled him over.

She stroked his hair, gently, gently. She was always so delicate with him, so light. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Gods, it was… He couldn't stop shaking. “C-can't.”

“What do you mean you can't?” Her hands stilled for a moment and Vax keened at the loss of contact. “I'm going to make a light, okay?”

He didn't care. Gods, he didn't care. Just needed it to stop.

A gentle glow painted his eyelids red and Keyleth made a sad noise at the sight of him. “Oh, Vax.”

“I can't—” he started, and choked on a dry retch.

“Are you— hang on, I'll get a, a bin or something.”

No.

He wasn't going to get sick. He'd ride this out to the bitter end, because he just wasn’t… He couldn't.

“Keyleth,” he choked, but that was all he could manage before another dry retch forced him to clamp his teeth together. Why wouldn't it stop?

“Do you want me to stay?” she asked, touching his arm. He nodded and she wrapped her arms around him, gentle as always. “Oh, Vax, you're shaking. Was it really bad?”

He nodded again. All the fear, all the dread, it had gone right to his stomach, and it seemed his body wouldn't be content until he expelled it. His stomach turned over and his abdomen clenched and Keyleth whispered his name, her fingers in his hair.

“Vax, I think you're going to be sick.”

“No,” he murmured into her neck, a plea for mercy.

“But you—”

He pulled back and looked at her, and a few cold tears ran down his cheeks. “I can’t.”

She cupped his face, wiping the tears away with her thumb.”It’s okay! It’ll just be really awful for a second, and then you’ll feel better. Probably.” Her smile faltered for a moment and she pulled away. “I'm gonna get a bin, okay? I'll be right here.”

Vax’s stomach lurched again, and this time, hot bile teased the back of his throat. “Kiki…” Not a plea, but a warning. “Hurry.”

Denial was clearly getting him nowhere. Vax swallowed convulsively and curled in on himself. Useless tears burned in his eyes. Keyleth thrust something cold and metallic into his hands and he clutched at it, some needlessly ornate wastebasket. The metal detailing stabbed into his palms and tears pooled in the bottom of it.

“I can't,” Vax said, his voice breaking, “I really can't.” His stomach churned in direct contradiction and he choked down a gag.

Keyleth’s fingers spread over his back and she rubbed the length of his spine, neck to waist. “You'll feel better after,” she said softly. “I'll be right here.”

Not forever. Not forever. The Raven Queen had promised, he’d see them all— he’d see all his friends to their graves.

That thought alone was enough to make him gag, and this time, there was no swallowing down the rush of hot bile.

Vax closed his eyes and heaved, coughing on the remnants of his dinner and the sobs clawing their way up his throat between the vomiting. Gods, the way it burned in his chest— the heat of it.

All dead.

Through it all, Keyleth’s clever fingers danced in his hair, drawing soft lines across his temples and scalp, pulling his hair back. “It’s okay, Vax,” she murmured to him, her breath cool on his burning cheek.

He spat and gave a great, shuddering sigh. “Is it over?”

“How do you feel?”

“Not good,” Vax said. But not… not as bad. “Better,” he amended.

Keyleth wrapped her arm around him, pulled him as close as she could without jostling him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Vax took a deep breath, anything to center himself, and the vestiges of bitter bile seared on his tongue. “Could we maybe get some water?”

“Both of us?” Keyleth asked.

Vax nodded. “I don't… don’t to leave you. Don’t want you to leave me.”

Keyleth settled her chin on his shoulder. “Okay,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “We’ll go together “

[am-i-into-this]

So, I'm writing a book!

This is a project that I've been thinking of doing for a while, and a I am currently at the start of a 4 year creative writing and film course, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to tell you all about it.

It's going to be a collection focusing on paraphilias and sexual content involving them. As someone with a few paraphilias of my own (emeto - vomit and agalmato - specifically dolls) I am aware of how unconventional these are, and as a result, how underrepresented they are in media.

I would like to include:

Short stories involving the fetish (all fictional)

I will try to find a psychologist who specialises in paraphilic attraction to write a bit of information about how they develop and about the paraphilias being discussed specifically

I also may include people's experiences with their fetishes! I for one will be writing a bit about my emetophilia as I have a rather more complicated history with it than agalmatophilia (the story there is I realised one day that I found dolls and statues attractive, and that's just about it)

Basically, I'm here asking for requests! What's an unusual object of attraction that you would like to see represented in a book involving both short stories and information about said paraphilias? Also, if you are interested in any way in contributing (such as a psychologist with this speciality, someone who has a paraphilia who would be alright with sharing some of their experiences) then please send me a message or an ask, and I will reply as soon as possible! Edit: There is now a survey for those who would rather be anonymous, but I would personally prefer to carry this out as an interview as I believe we can have more in-depth discussions this way

Also, for the purposes of this book, I am only going to be discussing legal and fully consensual practices, so if this does not apply to your request, then I am not interested in reading it. (However if you were the victim of any form of assult and you believe that this in some way influenced the development of your fetish, then you can totally talk about that and I will do my best to support you with that when we communicate!)

I will put a list of fetishes that I do not wish to discuss under the cut. Please do not talk to me about any of them as these are my personal boundaries! I will put brief definitions of the fetish next to it in case you aren't aware of what the name means, and I don't censor any of it, so beware of potentially triggering content. I also may add to the list at some point

If you want updates, then I will be tagging all content related to this project as #am I into this?

And finally, I am not an expert on paraphilias, I merely find them interesting as I experience "unusual" attraction, and I want to make something that is content for both enjoyers of fetish content and people who want to learn more about them!

Pedophilia and any of its forms - children

Necrophilia - corpses

Amokoscisia - slashing and mutilating women

Anthropophagolagnia - raping and cannibalising someone

Zoophilia and any of its forms - animals

Biastophilia/raptophilia - rape

Candualism - exposing images of one's partner to another person

Exhibitionism - exposing yourself to unconsenting people

Voyeurism - watching other people engaging in sexual acts, often without their consent

Cannibalism - eating people

Coprophilia/scat - feces

Erotophonophilia/dacnolagomania - murder

Death feederism - feeding someone until they die

Frotteurism - rubbing one's genitals against an unconsenting person

Klismaphilia - enemas

Oculolinctus - eye-licking

Piquerism - piercing someone's skin

Somnophilia (in the context of the recipient being actually asleep and unconsenting) - sleep

Symphorophilia - witnessing or staging disasters such as car accidents

Telephonicophilia (in the context of the recipient being an unconsenting person/stranger) - obscene phone calls

Toucherism - touching an unconsenting person with one's hands

[zhongster]

Hi there! I absolutely LOVE your page! Your stories and headcannons have left me blushing SEVERAL times. Thank you :)

Ahem. Anyways...

I've got this idea in my brain and was wondering what your thoughts on it/would you write a small story about said topic.

So, as you said in your Vax headcannons, he's not shy about his belching abilities until Keyleth comes around, then he's "nervous"

What if, the two of them were made to share a room at an inn or something during one of their quests. She's busy talking to Pike or Vex even, he's alone in the room. WRONG. She comes in as he's just about to start releasing said "monsters" in his stomach. Of course, she wants him to feel better, she's his friend/girlfriend/wife (you decide, lol) so she encourages him to let loose and when he does, he finds out she secretly "likes" it...

I hope you enjoy this idea that now lives rent-free in my brain.

Oh my god dude… this prompt has me on the floor holy fuck. Also tysm I’m glad I’m finding more eructo people that like tlovm/cr 😭

(Post Writing Note: another day another me poking my emetophobia with a stick like an angry bear, that being said: ⚠️‼️EMETO TW: MENTIONS ONLY, WE DON’T ACTUALLY SEE IT (it happens off screen, so to speak) ‼️⚠️)

THIS IS KINK CONTENT, DNI IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT

Vax absolutely adored Vox Machina’s post victory ragers and considering the dragon they’d just killed, he found himself drinking with his friends and destroying some poor innkeeper’s tavern. Some hours ago Scanlan had disappeared upstairs with a rather attractive male tiefling to do god knows what and Grog and Pike lay asleep at a table over in the corner. This left only Vax, Vex, Keyleth, and Percy keeping the party going.

As he glanced around the room, looking for his sister (who definitely wasn’t in the process of swindling a nearby dwarf out of several gold pieces), he spotted Keyleth attempting to lead Percy in a drunken imitation of a waltz. The two of them were giggling and stumbling over each other and Vax was of the opinion that Keyleth had never looked prettier.

Vax’s stomach gave a slight groan to which he gently placed a hand over it. It pressed against his shirt, filled to the brim with tavern food and alcohol. A small gas bubble pressed up his throat and came out in the form of a quiet closed-mouth burp.

He decided he’d better make his escape now while Keyleth was distracted. He could go up to their shared room in the inn and empty his stomach of its troublesome gas before Keyleth was even aware he was gone.

He’d only just made it past the threshold of their room when a sizable belch forced its way up his throat. He placed a hand on his chest in slight surprise, he hadn’t expected that one. He wasn’t too perturbed however, this had been what he’d come up there to do anyway.

Wasting no further time, Vax turned away from the door and pressed his hand onto the top part of his overtaxed stomach. Immediately another deep belch rolled up his chest and out of his open mouth. As soon as it came to an end the door behind him flew open revealing none other than Keyleth, the one person he was trying to avoid at the moment.

He hurriedly removed his hand from his stomach and clamped his lips shut. However, once that first burp had come out he now found it a bit difficult to keep the rest from following its predecessor.

Keyleth passed through the doorway giggling and animatedly telling him a story about a Goliath that had just been rude to her and, he thinks, Percy ended up vomiting on his shoes when he attempted to tell the guy off. Vax isn’t totally sure as all of his focus is currently in keeping the rest of the air in his stomach from making an appearance in front of Keyleth. He’d taken to nodding and smiling through her story instead of actually responding.

“And anyway, Percy’s fine. I think Vex took him back to their room” Keyleth finished.

Vax hummed in acknowledgment.

Apparently, despite her slightly drunken state, Keyleth took notice of his lack of verbal response. “You feeling okay?” She asks, raising her eyebrow.

“Oh uhh-“ Vax started before he inevitably lost the battle with his stomach.

The belch that rolled out of him was a long one. Long enough, in fact, that he had time to close his mouth part way through, turning it into an extremely deep closed mouth burp.

Keyleth was just staring at him.

Vax lifted a fist to cover his mouth as he stifled a smaller after-burp, “shit, excuse me I’m so sorry Keyleth.” He apologized.

This seemed to break Keyleth out of the sort of shock she’d been in and she stuttered back to life with an awkward jolt.

She hurriedly waved her hands in front of him, “Nononono don’t worry about it, is your stomach hurting? Do you feel sick?” She asked.

Vax shook his head, “No I’ve just got… a bit of gas I’m afraid.”

Keyleth’s shoulders tightened before she spoke “Oh… well I’m glad you aren’t sick, you can keep going I don’t mind. I just want you to feel better.”

As much as he didn’t want to take her up on her offer it was beginning to seem as though he wouldn’t have any other choice. His body was not reacting well to the alcohol and he began to hiccup. His hiccups never lead to anywhere pleasant. Though they were tame at the moment he knew they would devolve in a few short minutes.

And of course, right on cue, he was wracked with another hiccup that quickly turned into an extremely long and painful burp. When it came to an end he brought an open palm to his chest and gently began to rub his own sternum. That one had hurt. Before he had a minute to breathe another hiccup-burp shook his chest. “Oh god” he wheezed.

He looked up to Keyleth who was staring at him like a deer in headlights and weakly gestured towards his back. She seemed to get the message as she began to roughly bring her palm down in between his shoulder blades. This finally managed to jar the rest of the air that was struggling to get out of him. The belch seemed to go on forever and when it finally ended he was gasping in relief.

“Gods that wasn’t fun,” he winced “thanks Keyleth.”

She seemed to start at the sound of her name and snorted a quick “no problem”.

That’s when Vax noticed it for the first time. There was a light rosy tint to Keyleth’s cheeks that hadn’t been there before. Now, her face usually flushed when she’d been drinking but he’d seen her drunk enough times at this point that he knew this was different.

Her strange behavior since she entered the room was finally starting to click. She was into it. She was actually into his gas.

Now Vax wasn’t one to kink-shame, he was friends with Scanlan after all, but the idea of her being attracted to him in any capacity both excited and terrified him. It almost seemed as though his hopelessly unrequited crush on her might not be so unrequited at all.

Shaking that thought out of his head, the mischievous part of his personality began to make an appearance and he found himself wanting to tease her even more than he already had. Against his better judgement, he subtly gulped down more air and smiled wickedly to himself.

This was going to be fun.

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 6

CW: hand gore, broken bones, violence, passing out, emeto warning, torture

PART 5 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 7

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

With the fifth blow, he finally came to.

Fighting through the wild ocean drumming inside his skull, he felt white-hot pain creeping up his arm, unknown in his source. As he tried to pull his hand towards him, dizzy with nausea and not sober enough to realize what was happening to him, the pain only started to multiply.

With every second that passed, hundreds and thousands of tiny needles made his nerves mewl in chaos. The signals normally designed to keep him safe and alert ran rampant up to his neck and directly behind his eyes; dragging and dragging to no avail, his hand stayed wrenched against the table.

"Just one more..." a voice at the end of the storm spoke, soft words accompanied by a sickening crack just beside him.

As the steel met flesh again, the world went blinding white.

If he were able to hear his own screams, he would have noticed his scarf slipping back against his palate, the awfully familiar threat of choking came to his mind. Helpless to any of it, the pain rutted itself deeper into his insides, spreading throughout his whole body.

Even as he finally managed to rip his limb protectively to his chest, the despair kept on building. 

Blooming itches crept up and down the limbs, a primal attempt to push out as much pain as possible. His heartbeat frantically pressing against the hand on his chest, which started to feel more like a liquid; flowing through itself and back down his forearm, it became dangerously shapeless, numb at the places where skin split to let agony flow freely to the outside.

What did I do? I haven't… I wasn't...

A face became visible behind the white fog clouding his vision. Morris called out to him, pushing the squirming form back into the chair and held him in place. 

He did this. 

The fog, a presence he was too familiar with by now, gave room for just one single thought. 

He did this to me.

Elliot had never seen him so nervous, quickly talking to him but keeping an even level to eye him thoroughly. He must have knelt down to continue his gibberish. His face had gone rosy again, eyes bulging out of their sockets to underline his panicked expression.

"-ve to take a picture. I fix you right up, okay?"

Snatching back control over his body, Elliot used the fading shock to bring his head forward, smashing it against Morris' nose. Instantly, the pressure on his chest faded away and without thinking any further, he jumped up to get as far away as possible.

--------

Morris snapped back quickly after Elliot, obviously confused and semiconscious, pressed his forehead uncomfortably harsh against the other's face. It didn't even hurt, Morris was too agitated himself to react in any other way.

The wild expression in his captive's eyes was surrounded by a light splatter of red. Somehow, his method of choice must have spread the escaped blood all over its surroundings.

With a kick to the bound legs, useful for once as a point of contact, Morris simply knocked him down to the floor again to curb any kind of escape attempt.

He should have stayed asleep, that's all he tried to achieve with this theater, but nothing seemed to go as planned anymore.

As he laid on the carpet, still cradling his left hand and utterly lost in painful shivers, Morris quickly used his opportunity to grab him by the ankles.

He couldn't work like that.

Elliot had gone slack again, staring up at the ceiling with watery eyes so raw around the edges, it looked like they too were about to stain him red. 

Pulling him through the threshold, Morris managed to get them both settled onto the bathroom floor, ripping fingers away from the protective grasp and fixed them quickly onto the once white tiles.

--------

He remembered everything now. The car, the alley, even the fight that followed shortly after - like time was turned back to the biggest mistake of his life, to give him another chance. He would make use of it. 

Spurred by his new will to survive, Elliot let his free hand grab up into Morris hair, nails digging into the soft scalp and twisting the head away from his mauled side. 

Both their breathing went rapid now, but Morris still had the upper hand. His knee connected painfully with Elliot's stomach, threatening to cause even more damage than intended. Taking advantage of his loose grip, his right arm was ripped to the floor and kept in a tight squeeze under Morris' knee.

"Don't make me do this, Elliot!"

Never even thinking about stopping his struggle, Morris looked down at his captive horrified, nearly apologetic, as he pushed the fingers apart with his own. Trapped in violent hand holding, the man above let his body weight shift onto the vice-like grip, thus leaning directly into the abused flesh.

Unable to keep himself together anymore, the agony took over his higher brain functions with a high-pitched wail. Pushing the cursed scarf out of his mouth through a simple retch, everything his stomach could handle during the day just emptied itself onto the bathroom floor, to find its place within blood and tears.

A broken yelp slipped through the room, as Elliot let go of all consciousness; escaping his torture after all.

--------

He should have never done this alone, how stupid could he be? The mashed appendage on the bathroom floor let its blood pool freely, teared skin ripped open to reveal thin bones underneath, visible for anyone who would watch.

"Fucking hell!" Morris murmured to himself, taking a good look at the surrounding damage.

The tremors ripping through Elliot didn't seem to halt for even a second, though his eyes were half-closed and staring blankly into the void.

It was better that way, gave him more time for clean-up. Grabbing the first aid kit from his bag, he nearly forgot about the photo until the antiseptic fell out of his shaky grasp.

He needed to calm himself, immediately. A voice deep inside forbade him to leave his little bane on the ground like that, between piss stains and vomit. He tended to underestimate the risk of infection when it came to this house.

Snapping some quick close-ups of the mess Elliot caused him to inflict, Morris could finally get back to damage control.

If Amber wouldn't answer now, what would be had left as an alternative? He didn't plan anything after this point, frankly, not even after he got Elliot to the house.

His gaze stayed fixed onto the man's face: The horror of the last minutes, or day maybe, was etched into his features. Old and new bloodstains finding each other to blend seamlessly into his clothes and hair.

Morris would not resent him for this, he wasn't erratic enough to expect a man just to sit and take it.

Not knowing what else to do, he started to pour the disinfectant over the open gashes, thinned crimson seeping into the grout.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[bellysoupset]

How I organize this blog.

This is a post specifically for writers and kink-writers. I'm gonna be talking about how *I* organize my stuff and a system that I feel works well.

It doesn't mean my way is the only way, but it IS a way I've found manageable and as someone with 200+ fics, being easy to navigate is my number 1 concern.

Under the cut 👇

Tagging system

This is my touchstone, my everything in this blog. I have three "categories" of tags I use.

Character Tag: So I tag my sickee in every fic. JUST the sickee/whumped charcter. I try to use the full name (Lucas Atwood) or the nickname that is easier to come to mind (Vince Monacelli).

Why is this important? One day you're going to get an anon saying "hey I'd really like to read all your fics with John". And then you'll have to go and hunt for all your fics with John. One day you'll be writing something and be like "is Mary allergic to peanuts?" and then you'll want to go back and read just the Mary fics. This WILL happen and you'll be glad you can just click the "Mary" tag and go through all your Mary fics.

Organization Tag: I use #mywriting for every single fic I write, tiny or large. Other tags I also use #myocs for all questions I get regarding them and #ocsfaces for everything I've ever posted regarding their appearance. I also use #meta for everything regarding the act of writing.

Why is it important? Sometimes you'll want to reblog other creators' works or you'll go on an answering asks spree and then suddenly, if someone was to stumble in your blog, your writing is actually in page 3 or 4. This is why #mywriting is important, so people can go straight to that, sorted by the most recent piece. Also, updating your masterlist is a pain in the ass, but tagging is easy. You WILL get asks about your OCs eye color, height, whatever, this is the reason for the other two tags.

Please Notice Me Tags: Well, I write sick fics, so everything is tagged #sickfic, #emetophilia, #flu... etc etc. This is just so other likeminded people will find your stuff in the tag! It can also serve as an organization tag if you remember that you always tag "#stomach flu", but I sometimes flip flop between how to tag each illness so in my case is not for organization, is more for marketing reasons.

Why is it important? Well, you put time and effort into this! You want people to read it <3

-

Pinned Post

This is already common practice around these lands, but here are some things I think are important.

Add your tags (character and organization, only. Not the marketing tags) to your pinned post, so you can easily find them. My pinned post has every character I have tagged, because its easier for ME to navigate my own blog this way.

Please, for the love of god, assign a name to yourself. It doesn't have to be your name, hell it doesn't have to be even A name, it can be "Book/Seven/Cool Dog Name", it just makes it so much easier to interact with other creators when I don't have to call them "kinkmasteremeto102" every time I reblog from them.

Either have your masterlist under a "read more" in your pinned post or add a link to it. I recommend having a link to your masterlist, it has worked to me and this way you can reblog the masterlist without having to reblog your pinned post with more personal info every time.

If there's something you absolutely don't write, don't want requests, this is the place to put it! Make it clear from the get go to avoid exhausting interactions.

In my case I know people mostly come to my blog for emeto, so I mark my fics that have no emeto with **, but that's just personal preference, it doesn't actually make my life easier.

-

Archive

One day, maybe next week, maybe in six months, another tumblr scare "the website is going down" will happen. And then you'll freak out and cry, if you're like me and doesn't wanna lose your fics in case this website goes up in smoke.

I HIGHLY recommend saving your fics elsewhere, as well as tumblr. Not to have a reader base there, just for safety. Here are some options:

Archiveofourown, tagged as original work: it's a fucking hassle to put up, but if you're starting to post works, it's actually very easy to maintain. In my case, with 200+ fics it didn't work bc I didn't have the patience to upload all of them there, but as a creator who still has a small number and working your way up, I think this is a good one!

Google Drive. Scary, I know, because Google is watching over you, but this is the method that worked for me. Here's how I do it: have a google account JUST for my kink stuff, that has no ties whatsoever to my real person. Not the security email, not a similar password, nothing. Only use it in an anonymous tab and then you can use the entire Drive Suite to upload your fics in a big document, your OC info in a google sheet, etc etc.

Waybackmachine. I haven't actually ever used this one, but I know its an internet archive and you can take "snapshots" of your blog, so they're saved there forever. Unsure how it works, though.

----

Oh ANOTHER thing. Always tag your anons if they sign their stuff. I know it's common practice already, but doesn't hurt to reiterate.

If you get an ask signed as - 🙈anon, tag the fic/request/answer with "# 🙈 anon" as well, this way the anon can later easily find their question in your blog. 💛

If anyone has a question regarding this in specific, my askbox is always open.

[writing-whump]

If it doesn't hurt

Anneliese finds Ryan sick behind the gym. Warning for emeto.

----

Ryan Adler was driving her insane and actively so.

She knew finding access to the boxing club at the campus would be hard. There were no girls, so there was no way Anneliese wouldn't feel like a disruptive element at the gym, even if she just sat there with her laptop open. She switched between reading homework texts and taking notes about their behaviour and the atmosphere, trying to seem as unobtrusive as possible. There was no way to observe the boys without them changing their behaviour because of her intrusion, so she had to take that into account. They all agreed to her presence and were informed of the research she was doing by Lucian, so at least the moral part of the deal was covered.

There were different phases to the gym, with some people on morning and evening workouts, some that just came for a bit of intense punching training or that waited their turn for a little sparring match after a thorough warm up.

She quickly learned that 3 minute long rounds of jumping combined with punches was a whole body strenuous workout that left the boys sweating and breathing hard. She didn't understand how they managed more after that.

She had days reserved for the observation, but since she didn't really know anyone else outside her friendly but distant fellow exchange student of a roommate, she spent most of her breaks and gaps between classes in the gym too. It was a nice place with a view at the well cut campus grass, it was nicely cold in the downstairs sutteren, and nicely sunny in the upstairs part with the bar with drinks and shakes and a nice set of tables. She clicked her way there in peace with good wifi, occasional coffee or sandwich. Better than at the library, where she couldn't eat or drink and had to ask for permission to go see her bag. As cool and intellectual looking as the library was, Anneliese liked to have all her stuff in reach. 

Lately she liked the gym, despite its stuffy air, smell of sweat and haggard breathing of its occupants, because she didn't feel so lonely there. Her room gave her desire privacy, but the silence and emptiness after living her last 24 years with her parents and brother, felt hollow and overwhelming. She wasn't sure she would dress or eat anything proper, if she had no one to see that day. Time run out with mindless scrolling or repeated rewatches of the same movies, when you had a sad spell and no one to check on you. 

Penn was nice. She was lovely, flexible, easy to get along with, but she spend most of her time at the atelier, studied at the library and visited her distant uncle through the weekends. Getting anything out of Penn despite her friendliness was a challenege. Anneliese's roommate never initiated any conversation, didn't share how her day was. She answered sweetly and to the point, when asked, as if afraid any word more would be one word too much. Anneliese wanted to share more. She wanted to discuss the campus life, exchange impressions about Zurich and the differences between their university town, wanted to interrogate her on her creation process of her drawings. And she had many things of her own to share, like what interesting article they discussed at class or what she was reading for an assignment or which one of the fascinating topics for a presentation to pick. That's the trouble when you love what you study - there are hardly any people who can stand your passion. After trying a few times with Penn, Anneliese felt like she was forcing her enthusiasm on her and felt like a drag herself and the effort slowly fizzled out. 

It was frustrating and sad and Anneliese felt like it was her fault. She was a tutor for the last year and a half and she held little input lectures for students that helped with academic writing - she had enough responsibility and training with other students to not fear crowds or talking publicly or leading groups. 

But she couldn't make her roommate talk.

So she went and headed to the gym this evening instead too. Penn might be home sooner today or she might not, but Anneliese wasn't going to sit there and beat herself up over not talking.

The gym was pretty deserted at half 8. Only the permanent members were around - the four Annenelise saw so many times already she was recognising them, despite her terrible memory for faces. (She wished it was some kind of explainable affliction. How can someone be so bad at recognising faces? You changed your hair or wore a hat and you could as well be a new person to her). 

There was Lucian, the most memorable. He was the unofficial captain of the club, the oldest, with the most praxis. And the most mature in a way, since he wasn't particularly friendly, but answered her questions thoroughly, with actual thinking involved. He had hard to miss white blond hair reaching to his chin and such glassy emerald green eyes, you felt like shards were prickling your eyes when looking into them.

Then there was Julian, easy going and friendly, with brown hair always in a loose ponytail. Anneliese was so glad for him having the same haircut each day. Since the fateful call in the park, he became memorable to her for a whole different reason. He felt safe and approachable and he always smiled warmly when he saw her, which was sometimes the only nice interaction her whole lonely campus day.

There was the sulky Coleson, who trained since early childhood in boxing and was meticulous and incredibly graceful, when he moved. But he always looked like something angered him deeply, whenever she saw him; though Julian insisted that was his neutral expression and not something personal against her.

And the last was Ryan. Wild blond curls and dark amber eyed Ryan, who might as well had fire in his eyes and always took up the whole room with his presence. He interacted with her, oh yes he did, in the most mean way. Openly questioning the purpose of her research methods ("You just sit around there all day"), the purpose of the study ("Explorative deductive research? So you don't even know what you want to find out? How lame!") and her study field in general ("Ethnographic what? Cultural studies? What's that even good for? Must be the most useless of all useless humanity faculties."). Yep, he was driving her insane. And not just at the gym. Whenever he saw her at uni, he would start all over with his mocking questions. She didn't even get to talk about her research field specialty - the process oriented approach to writing or that she had consultations with students about their BA and MA thesis weekly. 

She was pretty proud of her expertise, that she could help others with what she knew about writing, and she was excited about what her faculty offered her. Not memorising facts, but actual critical thinking, lots of reading and then discussing said reading. Dream come true.

Explain that to economy students. The core group at the gym had different specialisations, but it was mostly business, accounting, business law or connected to informatics. 

She was sipping her freshly brewed mint tea, trying to fit with the background as the occupants slowly left one after another. Lucian was still in the back office. Somehow the gym didn't have a coach, just him locking the place up and writing down attendance. She wondered whether he was paid for it. Maybe that could be a good thing to ask him about next time. Not sport related activity connected to the club: how were such tasks organised? By whom? If the club members themselves organised themselves and the university simply offered them space and opportunity to do so, how did the person in charge emerge? This could lead back to the group dynamics question, and how abilities are connected to respect and that lead back to treatment and unsaid hierarchies in the club...

She wrote down her notes, finally getting into a flow with her observations. The room was entirely quiet. You knew the club was empty when you could suddenly hear the clock ticking in the cafeteria, without outcries, running feat or arguing. Boys, left unchecked, were incredibly loud creatures. She really should stop thinking of them as such alien beings...

A sudden loud retch interrupted her thoughts. That sound was so unexpected and unfitting to the relaxed atmosphere of the sunset light. Maybe she just imagined it?

But then another sounded. A guttural loud throaty retch. She jumped on her chair, looking back to the direction of Lucian's office, which was alight, but he wasn't there. 

Curious thing was that the sound didn't come from the bathroom on the left. It came from somewhere outside.

Anneliese packed her things in nervous jitter and then cautiously walked out the gym and circled the small cubic building. Normally you would head to the left to the campus, but the retches came from the right, which only led to a dead end with the garden stopping with a high fence.

With her heart thumping loudly in her ears she made the last turn to gasp at the sight.

Ryan was bent in half, hands on his knees, throwing up loudly like a moose. His whole body was shaking, sweat glistening on his neck and he looked a sick green of white in the warm end of spring air.

"Uhmm...can I help you?" Was the first thing that came to mind. She didn't like him, but he looked positively distressed.

He coughed, then spit onto the ground and raised his head. "Do I fucking look like some confused tourist at info point? No-uuurp-way." His tone dripped with sarcasm, his dark amber eyes burning her alive.

"What's wrong with you? Can I get you something?"

He shook his head and an amused smile played on his lips despite the spit hanging of it. "Just go home, Anneliese. Do what any normal person would do, when they hear someone hurl."

"Did your friends leave you here?"

His brows furrowed angrily in offense. "I have pretty good friends, thanks."

"You didn't tell them, did you? Should I call Juls...?"

"No fucking way. Just stay out of it. I don't need any help from you." It would sound a lot more threatening if he didn't keep swallowing convulsively and if she didn't see his hand shake as he dried his mouth off on his sleeve. "Call 'Juls'. Now when did you two move to the nickname area? Pfff."

That was the last drop. She was so done playing it nice with this guy. "What the hell is your problem, huh?" She put her hands on her hips, shaking her professional polite attitude she wore to win people over at this new place. "All I did was freaking offer help to you. But you have to act like an idiot about it. Whenever you see me, you just make fun of me, question me or treat me like I'm useless and bothering you. What the hell did I do to you that you despise me so much, Ryan?"

He blinked at her and stared for a few seconds, dazed. "Huh. That's the first time you said my name. Only took a month."

It was her turn to blink. "What do you-"

His body chose that moment to get involved. Ryan shuddered, and then heaved, but nothing but bile came up. He still leaned all forward, chest spasming. A small whimper escaped him.

Anneliese moved on instinct, giving up on asking or being manageable or trying to guess whatever the correct reaction to this situation would be. She moved forward, her hand shooting to his back, trying to smooth the tensed muscles. His back was soaked with sweat.

"You are okay. Relax. It's alright," she murmured.

"Uuurp. The hell. So is this what a guy must do to get your attention?" He asked through a burp. The playful tone didn't match the state of his body at all.

"I don't understand. You have been mean to me since the beginning." She kept rubbing his back, since he didn't say anything to stop her.

"I wasn't mean. I was trying to make conversation. Make you talk. Get angry. Explain things. Stand up for yourself. But all you did was ignore me, turn a cold shoulder or run away. Like I wasn't even-urrrrp-even worth the effort."

"That's kindergarten logic. The boy who is mean to you just likes you."

"So what if it is? Kindergarten is for children. Children know the best. They are their purest human selves before society gets their claws into them with expectations. You won't insult me with that." He straighned back up and burped loudly.

She watched him like a hawk. He was so shaky and sweaty, but he didn't seem bothered at all. Like he could just ignore his symptoms or as if they weren't distressing him.

"I'm starting to think it's very hard to insult you." She kept her hand on his back, feeling him shiver.

"See? I'm not stupid, just cause I like sports or whatever you seem to think. We aren't aggressive apes beating out excess testerone out of each other. And you come to study us, like we are a damn weird experiment you aren't sure is tolerated at university." He kept a hand on his stomach from the side, leaning sideways a little. Must have been hurting still. She pushed her shoulder into his, trying to steady him. He was way higher than her, he could flop her over easily.

"I'm not studying you like objects or animals. It's called participatory observation, because I want to understand your attitudes, group dynamics, and interactions. It's foreign to me because of my background and my personal knowledge bubble as a researcher, not because I think less of you." She felt his weight as he leaned into the contact between their shoulders. But he held himself in check not to unbalance her.

She wasn't even sure why she blabbed on, but his bleary eyes focused on her.

"Pche. You are good at hiding it, but you think yourself way higher than everyone around." 

"I don't-"

"Hi, it's fine. I do that too. You are a challenge and you work hard and love what you do, so it's hard to impress you." He snickered. "Am I managing?" 

"This is ridiculous." She stepped away from him then as if burned, suddenly feeling self-conscious. How did she dare to touch him so casually out of the blue? He didn't seem to mind at all. 

"Why do you think conflict with someone means connection? That's so weird." She huffed.

"Are you social scientists allowed to say that? I thought the world "normal" and "weird" were all but taboo so you don't force others into stereotypes..." he teased.

"Alright I get it. Did you look this stuff up? You are way too prepared."

"Oh, I'm not. But if I knew getting sick was a way to get your attention..." He burped again, loudly, not even trying to stifle it. 

"What's wrong with you anyway?" She was suspecting he was trying to distract her.

He was silent for a moment, looking into the distance, taking slow measured breaths. "Just exhaustion. Don't worry, you won't catch anything from me."

"That was not- exhaustion?" Did he push himself too much in training? That was horrible and...surprisingly insecure from someone so full of himself.

"I missed almost an entire year. Have to catch up fast or they will leave me behind, when real matches start."  There was seriousness to his voice that was new to the conversation. 

She stared at him for a while, thinking of a polite answers and then scratching them all and wrinkling her nose. "Can't you do it more gradually? Getting sick seems a bit extreme."

He massages his chest with one hand. "If it doesn't hurt, then it isn't working."

She rolled her eyes. 

He grinned. "This is way more fun, when you say what you mean." 

[crystalsnow95z]

I’ve been curious and meaning to ask, is there a reason you call all the members by their actual names or by a plausible-nickname-sounding stage name in Jin’s case, but J-Hope is still always J-Hope and not Hoseok or Hobi?

There's absolutely no reason why I do this. It just started writing whatever name felt natural for each member, and yet somehow, he became J-hope? Like.. when I talk about him, I call him Hobi or Sunshine only. It's a very good question.

I never call Jin or Hobi by their actual name because I feel like I pronounce them wrong, so maybe thats why it doesn't feel natural in writing?

I thought about changing it to Hobi before and have two drafts with him as Hobi, not J-hope, but I feel like it's too late to change after months of him being J-hope in all my stories.

EDIT:

Here's one of the drafts where he's Hobi.

It's an emeto story so sorry^^,

[drainthebloodbank]

the thing is the other day when we were talking abt emeto and . Well. yeah. i can understand being into the ACT OF IT . i seriously do not care for the substance but the act can really be ummm..again it always comes back down to desperation. the idea of one person being so like deep in a situation and getting so simultaneously turned on and anxious that it makes them physically ill and like convulsing and retching a little bit you know . and the other person just kind of walking a fine line between soothing them and encouraging it like yeah its ok get it out . Its like the holding someones hair back dynamic made sexual

[gay-for-the-snz]

Day 1: “I’m not hungover, I’m just sick” (Or vise versa) [F, unspecified]

Florence and Rhoda are starting us off for Sicktember <3

F/F, 1.6k, CW for emeto mention (but no actual emeto happens)

⁂

She jerks awake with a start when the alarm clock on the other nightstand beeps, some shrill tone bidding Rhoda to have to get up and get ready for work. And, as such, signaling that it's time for her to get her sorry ass home to do whatever she's supposed to do today. Instead of that, though, she just sinks further under the blankets and whines until the beeping is cut off by a hand that snakes out from under the covers and pats around until it finds its mark.

"Good morning."

She doesn't respond to that, just rolls around a little throwing a tantrum at the fact that she has to get up. It's too bright in here. More than that, she's gonna fucking hurl if she has to get up right now. "It's not."

Rhoda crawls a little closer, pulling her closer and intertwining their limbs, her bare skin still sleep warm. "Mm, not a good morning or not morning at all?"

"Both."

She kisses along her shoulder, down towards her collarbones. "We could make it a good one."

Florence considers the offer, shivering a little at her affection. "I feel like shit."

"You're hungover."

"I'm never hungover. Don't even suggest that, you're insulting me." She grabs the pillow and puts it over her head to block out the light, half smothered by silk. "I'm sick."

She can feel the expanse of Rhoda's hand running over her chest, gently pinching one of her nipples in question of furthering the contact. "Talking dirty to me at six thirty in the morning?"

She slides the pillow over enough that she can turn her head and make eye contact with the woman whose face is only inches from hers. "Not the sexy kind. The 'I might go puke up dinner in your bathroom' kind."

"Ah. You're right, that's not the sexy kind." She sits up, stretches in that way that always makes Florence think of a cat, and lays back down, this time propped up on one elbow, cheek rested in her palm. "So you're just staying here, then?"

"Why would I go be miserable in my own blankets when I can do it in yours?"

"I don't know. Because you don't live on this side of town and I'm not driving you to work tomorrow morning?"

She whines at this, too, burying herself back under the pillow. "Why are you so mean to me? I've never been anything but nice to you."

Rhoda laughs in response, and she can't make the venomous eye contact she wants to from beneath her luxurious hovel. She probably should go home. If nothing else, Rhoda is usually amenable to dropping her off on the way to work--even though it isn't actually on the way at all--and that means she won't have to deal with the bus system this early in the morning, nor later when it gets crowded with everybody else.

But the blankets are so warm and comfortable, and so is Rhoda's body against hers, supple curves and rolls enveloping her in the embrace. "Do you at least have a Gatorade or something for on the way?"

"I don't, but I'll make you some tea for the road if you promise to behave."

"That doesn't sound like something I'd do."

"Then I guess you'll be taking yourself home after I leave."

And apparently that bitch means it, because she climbs out of bed. She can hear her wandering around the bedroom and into the bathroom, and the sound of the shower starting.

This is so wholly unfair.

She crawls out after her, half stumbles into the bathroom and squints against the lights glaring at her from over the sink. She flicks them off.

"Oh, did somebody decide she wanted to play nice?"

"You're cruel to me. Me, your beautiful and fun and sexy situationship. I sneeze on your cunt and this is how you treat me."

"Not last night you didn't. We were barely two drinks into that movie before you wandered off and climbed into my bed." She shuts the water off and steps out, wringing her hair out into the tub. She will never understand how she manages to shower so fast--years of practice, she's said, but it seems surreal that a person could be in and out in less than ten minutes. Sometimes less than five.

"Is this punishment for last night, then?"

"I'm hardly the one who punishes you in this relationship."

"Remember that next time you wanna be a brat."

"You love it." She doesn't bother turning the lights back on, but does take her makeup bag to the other room to use the hall mirror. "Have you given any more thought to our conversation last week?"

"Dude, there's nothing I wanna do less than go to a wedding with you, ESPECIALLY if you're gonna make me pretend to be your girlfriend." The thought of it makes her cringe, and the thought of all the food that's going to be pushed on her makes her stomach turn.

Rhoda looks ridiculous trying to be mad while she's applying mascara, but she makes a good effort. "I can't be the only person at Parveen's wedding without a date. Do you know what they're going to do if they see me single?"

"I don't see how that's my problem."

"Because I'm making it your problem. Because if it's my problem, I'm going to have to field a million aunties and cousins trying to set me up with anybody that's got a pulse and isn't over the age of seventy." She turns to admonish her further, but pauses abruptly. "Oh. Florence, you look terrible."

"Thanks."

"Shut up." She reaches out, and the fact that her hand feels cool on her skin tells her that she's definitely feverish. "You really don't feel well, do you?"

"Like I said, I'm not hungover, I'm sick. You're really going to kick me out into the cold like this?"

"It's like sixty-five outside. It's the middle of August. I think you would survive the slightly below room temperature world outside." She leans down to shake out her hair, settling for a slightly windswept look when she straightens back up. "Besides, I said I would drive you. And I said I would make you tea before we left."

Tea doesn't sound horrible, but she's still not really in the mood for it. Not that she's in the mood for anything, really, but that's kind of the problem. "I guess. Don't you have, like, Pepto or something?"

"What I have is curry leaves, but somebody doesn't like those."

"Listen, I don't make you try Irish food."

"You don't even like Irish food?"

"I fail to see how that has any bearing on this."

"Go get dressed or you're going home naked."

She begrudgingly relents, shuffling off back into the bedroom to gather up discarded clothes from the floor and paw through the dresser drawer she's taken over as her own. "You need to do laundry."

"For your clothes?"

"Yeah." She tugs on an old tee shirt that's far too large for her, and a pair of shorts that are flirting with the line of too small to wear. "You coming over when you get off?"

"Probably not tonight, we've got a project coming up that's already getting delayed because we can't get the fabric in on time, they're back ordered for at least a week. So I've got a week's worth of work to try and get sorted out before it puts us behind enough we can't actually get anything out."

She honestly isn't even listening beyond 'probably not tonight', just letting the sound of Rhoda's voice wash over her. She's more aware than anything of the fact that she's nauseous, and beyond that, that her body is kind of weirdly achey. "Rhoda."

"What?"

"You know you're getting whatever this is, right?"

This might be the first time she's ever seen her grimace in response to the prospect of catching something off of her. "Yeah, I know. I'm not happy about it."

"What, this isn't as romantic as a cold?"

"Not even a little."

She pretends to gag, and Rhoda is already halfway across the room, voice shrill.

"Florence I'm not joking, you'd better knock that off--"

"Okay, okay, chill out." That definitely didn't help the actual nausea, so she was done anyway. But it's nice to make somebody else a little miserable, too. Misery loves company, or whatever the fuck Three Days Grace said.

"You're really close to actually having to walk. If you do that in my car--"

"Your car is worth more than I make in a fucking year, I'm not gonna hurt it."

"I'm serious--"

"I hear you!" And ugh, does she ever. She couldn't ignore her even if she wanted to, the volume is not doing any favors to the headache that's encroaching on her everything. "Do you know where my phone is?"

"Why would I know where your phone is?"

"I don't know, 'cause it's your house?"

"Do you want me to call it?"

"It's on silent."

"Then I guess you'd better get looking, shouldn't you?"

Rhoda is clearly still upset about the little joke, because she isn't actually helping the search and rescue efforts any. She halfway attempts to fix her hair a little while she wanders around, partially out of frustration, partially just because she needs to get her hair off the back of her neck. She's uncomfortably hot and kinda sweaty, and the thick halo of curls resting on her skin are definitely not helping matters.

She finds the long lost phone somewhere underneath the bed, and practically dangles off of Rhoda, holding onto her tightly, fevered cheek rested against cool skin. "Take me home?"

She rolls her eyes, fondly. "Fine, let's go."

[raitrolling]

anyway uhhhhh. scattered thoughts about Spanner In The Works time

the whole idea for this plot started out because when celise last met epsilo he was very close to just straight-up killing them, and while that crisis was avoided i liked the idea of celise dying and getting resurrected due to vernrot's eldritch influence so i decided to roll with that for my own plot

lucy being the culprit just made sense to me given how it is established that he does kill tourists whenever the various entities at vernrot require a troll sacrifice, and then i was thinking Hey What If That Had Consequences

... and also i had that scene where vallis figures out that lucy is drunk because he's listening to his bodily functions using his eldritch senses stuck in my head and wanted to write that. i love vallis' lowkey freak shit

that was. about the extent of of pre-planning i did before writing those five drabbles LMAO most of the stuff came to me while i was writing, or i was thinking about the next drabble while writing the one i was currently working on

lucy wasn't originally going to call upon the horrorterrors to save celise, but something about that moment of being so delirious from blood loss and regret/grief that you call out to anyone who would hear for some sort of solace was really evocative to me that i just had to include it. and it helped tie vallis into the plot for Part 4 even if he was mostly used as exposition

as an aside, i thought it was really funny how vallis talks about being disappointed that celise wants nothing to do with him, only for it to be revealed in the next drabble that they were so out of it they dont even remember him being there

celise is a frog zombie for multiple reasons 1. they are a frog troll and making them more froglike sounded fun; 2. vernrot's horrorterrors tend to warp people by giving them more aquatic qualities so amphibious bullshit made sense to me; 3. i like frogs; and 4. celise fucking hates weird zombies so this was such an ironic and mean fate to give them. id actually been debating for years if celise should have an inexplicable frog tongue mutation because i thought itd be funny if they could just. eat flies out of the air with it, but i always worried it mightve been Too Weird And Gross that i didnt go ahead with it... Until now. if anyone gets weird about it im beating you to death

i genuinely forgot that celise was a vegetarian too, so i had to pivot hard towards them having to deal with the horror of eating meat in After Pain so that ended up a lot more visceral than i initially intended. though i did have to rewrite one part because i got so into writing a contrast between celise's disgust between eating meat and how their new instincts desperately crave it and it tastes irresistible to them now that started sounding a bit vaguely erotic and i went FUCK OH NO GO BACK LMFAOOO. dungeon meshi changed me as a person

but yeah unfortunately for them their diet has completely flipped and they can only eat meat now! they can stomach animal meats fine but it doesn't sate them nearly as much as troll meat does, and for those who skipped the emeto scene the main thing worth noting is that ordinary food tastes rotten to them now. big rip

also the timeline is just vague enough that its ambiguous who left the offering at the end. was it the horrorterrors looking after their newest creation? or was it lucy trying to repent for what he had done to them? vote now on your phones

and i think i made it clear enough, but the thing that the horrorterrors took away from them was their ability to feel intense amounts of anger, which now when they get angry they start feeling really hungry instead. funny how they constantly denied their ability to feel negative emotions and anger to the point where they dissociated themself from the emotion entirely, and once they finally acknowledged it, it was taken away from them and the absence is so much worse. on the bright side, theyll be a little less insufferable to deal with now, so lucy did one thing right by killing them :)

[kartsstuffig]

sorry for all the text posts recently i have lots of thoughts and things to say and no art

hhh

i'm a little bummed about learning about uh

how this place is boutta fuckin crash and die

i don't have anywhere else to fuckin go when it comes to platforms like this

these are like

these are my people these are my select few internet strangers

..hhh

sorry again i just

uugghhhghguhhhhh can't have shit anymore.

i'm gonna go ahead and just dump all the shit but like

first of all one of my old friends that's still with the like entire rest of the group made my ASEXUAL GIRLFRIEND think they had a degradation kink which they do NOT and they said it made them feel like they were gonna throw up and they are EMETO FUCKING PHOBIC and just

hhh

i had to get rid of said friend from my server because of that. it hadn't even been a fucking day.

and i wish i could do more stuff with the rest of my friends outside of discord but i really don't have any kinda motivation to do the stuff they do anymore and i just don't want to but i WANT to want to. and i really wanna be able to talk to them more but they don't have discord and i don't really use what they use anymore.

and im fucking sick. and staying awake sucks. but i can't sleep half the goddamn time because my sisters in the room using my computer and i'm gonna fuck over my sleep schedule

and just

hhh.

and like also just

drama.

drama drama drama drama drama there's drama associated with everything i've ever loved at this point /hyperbole kind of

i liked fnf mods

drama.

i like omori

drama.

i like pizza tower

more drama.

ITS ALL FUCKING DRAMA.

EVERYTHING IS DRAMA. and like yeah i like hearing about the tea but at some point it just AAUUGGHH CAN WE PLEASE FUCKING BE NORMAL.

CAN WE NOT HAVE ALL THIS

CAN EVERY FNF DEV BE NORMAL AROUND CHILDREN

AUGH.

i'm sorry for making you read this just

uugghhhhhhghhhh.

ok.