#right as i layed down i felt another gurgling a cramp in my guts

[begaydodrughailsatan]

I have been spraying straight liquid out of my ass for almost half an hour now someone PLEASE kill me

[angstyaches]

If you're still taking prompts- Felix and Elliott haven't seen each other all day, and Elliott's been gassy all day, so when he finally gets to talk to Felix that night, Felix is really angry for some reason but E hasn't been feeling good so Felix takes care of him cause he feels bad and Elliott is just in so much pain 💔 Sorry English isn't my first language -🍫

Thank you for this request, it’s just lovely, and I’ve been so excited to get it finished for you! I couldn’t think of anything that would result in Felix being just the right amount of angry for this scenario, so he’s more annoyed than angry.

Also, we’re just going to ignore the fact that having someone heavier than you lie on your chest restricts your breathing, because Elliott deserves this, damn it.

CW: burping, stomach and chest pains, stomach noises, mention of vampire drinking (animal) blood, slight over-indulgence, slight mention of coming out a prolonged bout of nausea and lack of appetite.

___

“So,” Felix said, stretching his legs out across the bed and then crossing them at the knees. He was gradually working away on one of his blood lollipops, every so often sticking it in his mouth and having to speak around it. “Ugh, I was driving home, doing the speed limit, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Elliott agreed, resisting a sarcastic grin. Felix was the only driver he knew who didn’t violate speed limits every so often, not even by a couple of kilometres-per-hour.

“I suppose it was peak commuting time,” Felix went on. “Which was my own fault for leaving late. I was basically asking for trouble.”

As he listened, Elliott crossed the room to pick up the hairbrush from his bedside locker. He only had to bend a couple of degrees to reach it, but something about the shift in his posture made something shift inside him, too. He squeezed his lips together as he straightened, swallowing a clump of pressure that tried to escape up his throat. There was a distressed growl deep in his stomach as a result, which he managed to cover up by clearing his throat.

“Coming through town the usual way, past the supermarket and over the bridge,” Felix continued, unaware that any of this was happening.

“Mmhmm.” Elliott nodded in encouragement, going back into the ensuite bathroom and standing in front of the sink. His partner was still visible in the mirror, the door wide open so they could still hear each other.

Elliott pressed a fist to his mouth, releasing a short, grumbling belch.

“And then some idiot with a – I don’t know, a Chrysler or something? I mean, who needs a car that big, anyway? Anyway, they pulled out of the petrol station right in front of me, and I had to slam on the brakes!” Felix sighed deeply, letting his hands fall onto his chest. “I mean, I wasn’t going fast, but what if I had been? What if I'd had a cake on the front seat? It would've gone flying and been destroyed! Gosh, I thought I was going to have a heart attack, I was so mad.”

Elliott inhaled softly through his lips, looking into the mirror as he started tugging the brush through his hair. It was almost down to his elbows these days, and he couldn’t decide it he liked it, or if he wanted to cut it back to shoulder-length again.

He braced himself against a hiccup, realising he hadn’t responded to Felix in a while. He swallowed thickly, trying to recall the last thing he’d heard his partner say. “Did – did you honk the horn at them..?”

“I – well, no, I didn’t,” Felix said, sitting up on his elbows to glare at Elliott in the mirror. “I was mad, but come on, Elli. It was a built-up area, and it was after seven. What if there’d been a baby sleeping somewhere nearby?”

“Right…” Elliott murmured, as if he’d never, ever blown the horn of a car in a built-up area before.

“Anyway,” Felix grunted, flopping back down.

There was a distinct, bubbling sound coming from the upper part of Elliott’s abdomen now. He tried pushing his fingers gently into his stomach, just below his ribs, but he immediately hated the sensation and planted his hands next to the sink. That wasn’t going to work, but the discomfort was becoming so bad that he could feel it draining his energy and – more notably – his patience.

And the last thing he wanted, after a long day without seeing one another, was to snap at Felix over something as silly as a stomach ache.

“I’m just, you know… What the hell’s wrong with people?” Felix continued from the bed. “If they just opened their eyes for a moment, they might actually see something…”

He was still muttering – mostly to himself, at this point – about irresponsible drivers when Elliott closed the bathroom door and walked across the room. He approached the bed from the wrong side, which snagged Felix’s attention. The mint-haired boy looked up at Elliott, as though waiting for him to ask for something. His hands were folded neatly across his middle, his head on the pillow, his legs outstretched and uncrossed.

A pang of pure, untainted affection fluttered in Elliott's chest; as least, he was almost sure it was affection and not just a swell of pressure from his stomach. He half-smiled, watching Felix's expression soften.

“Are – are you alright, darling?”

Without a word in response, Elliott knelt at the end of the bed near Felix’s feet. He spread his hands and placed them either side of Felix’s waist, pressing into the blanket and the mattress.

“Oh,” Felix laughed, a slight blush instantly rushing into his cheeks. “Are we…? Oh, okay.” With a confused look on his face, he lifted his hands from his chest, making space for Elliott to lay down on him, head pressed between Felix’s neck and shoulder.

Felix dragged his fingers gently over the back of Elliott’s neck, pulling heavy locks of his hair together and scooping them to one side. “Darling, what’s brought this on?”

Elliott shrugged lightly. He didn’t really know himself, but the simplest answer seemed to be a fitting one. “You looked comfortable.”

“I see…. Well, you can rest your full weight on me,” Felix offered, his voice a little shaky. “I’m small, but I can take it.”

The tension gradually seeped out of Elliott’s muscles as he sank a little harder into Felix. He felt another shift in his stomach contents, which made a light sheen of sweat break out on the back of his neck. He swallowed, counter-productively, before dragging a heavy fist to his mouth.

The rumbling pressure got caught in the back of his throat, circling nauseatingly for a moment before slipping backwards. A tightness in his chest made him frown. His stomach rumbled so hard that it reverberated through his ribcage and gurgled in the back of his throat.

“Oh, gosh, I felt that,” Felix said, sliding on hand from Elliott’s neck towards his upper back. “Is everything okay in there?”

With his fist still waiting by his mouth, Elliott gave a quick nod. “My stomach’s slightly upset, but it’s nothing to worry about. Are you sure I’m not hurting you?”

“Yes, I’m sure! What’s wrong with your stomach?”

“Nothing…” Elliott winced as another bubble moved through his belly, catching in his oesophagus. “Well, I may have over-indulged slightly today, for the first time since my symptoms cleared up.”

“Ah, okay.” Felix’s tone was a little lighter now, as his hand smoothed over the plane of flesh between Elliott’s shoulder blades. “Obviously, I’m not relieved that you’re in pain, but it is comforting to know you’re getting back to your old self.”

“A bloodthirsty bastard?”

Felix stifled a laugh, And Elliott half-smiled to himself before a cramp rolled through his gut, once again coming to a sharp head just beneath his sternum. He parted his lips, hoping to coax some of the air up, but it gurgled all the way back down to his stomach, making the unhappy organ churn and roll.

A sigh of frustration left his mouth instead. Felix gave his back a slightly more urgent pat, hoping to move things along.

“Ugh,” Elliott groaned, resting his hand on Felix’s shoulder as he waited. “You can keep talking, boo. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“No, no,” Felix half-laughed, gently scratching his fingernails against the back of Elliott’s neck again. “That was just ranting. Taking care of you is so much more important.”

Elliott pressed his lips together. The pressure in his chest was beginning to build up again. The rumbling seemed to start behind his belly button and creep its way up behind his sternum.

Felix spread his hand over Elliott’s back again, no doubt feeling every vibration going through his organs and ribs.

Only when the pressure reached his throat, did it move with any kind of urgency. Elliott barely had time to form a fist again, pressing it to his mouth and releasing the burp as steadily as he could. It went on for about five seconds, making much less noise than it had when it had been rumbling around in his chest. Elliott frowned, knowing that there was no way that was the end of it.

“Sorry,” Elliott mumbled, turning his neck to burrow into Felix’s neck. He knew he was acting much shier than he usually would, but he’d already been feeling a bit embarrassed about climbing on top of Felix in the first place.

“Nothing to apologise for.” Felix tilted his head and rubbed his cheek against the top of Elliott’s head.

Elliott nuzzled even further into Felix’s neck as another belch bubbled up, determined not to direct it into his partner’s face. A low groan followed it, a sound that pleading for an end to this ordeal; although, if he was being honest, the pains twisting his stomach and tightening his chest were already fading. Felix’s hand continued to smooth over his back, fingertips occasionally tracing the shape of his spine and shoulder blades, and Elliott wasn’t about to ask him to stop anytime soon.

[cuddlepilefics]

Comfort Item

Fandom: GOT7

Sickie: Yugyeom

Caregivers: GOT6

Prompt: @sicktember

No one’s POV.:

After a long day at the company, GOT7 headed out to have dinner together. None of them were in the mood to cook something right now, so they went to one of their favorite restaurants, deciding to treat themselves. The restaurant was packed but they managed to get a booth in one of the corners where they wouldn’t attract too much attention. However, with the restaurant being busy, it took a while for the food to arrive. When it did, Yugyeom noticed that the meat in his dish seemed a little pink still but it tasted great nonetheless, so he just ignored it and dug in. They had a great time and truly enjoyed their food, yet they didn’t want to hang around for too long as a few people had already recognized them. When all members were done eating, they paid and left. It wasn’t too late yet and as summer was coming to and end, the temperatures outside were comfortable. Deciding they had spent way too much time indoors lately, they agreed to take a longer walk before going back to their dorm to rest. Yugyeom was the only one not really happy about the decision but not wanting to be a party pooper, so he just went along with it, trailing behind the rest. For some reason, his stomach had started to feel a little off and walking around outside just didn’t sound too appealing. He walked behind the others and carefully slipped a hand under his shirt, palming his sore middle.

They had already been walking around for twenty minutes when the uneasy feeling in his gut turned into cramps. Mark had slowed down a bit to walk beside the maknae and took note of the younger’s tense expression. He didn’t bring it up at first, hoping Yugyeom would speak up if something was wrong, but at some point, he knew the dancer wouldn’t. “Hey, you okay? You look a bit uncomfortable”, Mark asked quietly. Looking straight ahead, Yugyeom shrugged: “I think my dinner isn’t fully agreeing with me.” – “Oh well, maybe the fresh air will help some”, the oldest hummed. Biting his lip, Yugyeom avoided eye contact. He knew the air wouldn’t do much, as it had only gotten worse the longer they were out. They continued to walk in silence while some of their members fooled around ahead of them. Mark had brushed the topic off until he heard a loud gurgle, looking over at his dongsaeng to see his face scrunched up in pain. “Did that sound come from your stomach?”, he asked worriedly. The maknae nodded hesitantly, raising his fist to his lips to muffle a queasy belch. When had he gotten so bloated? The waistband of his jeans had started to painfully dig into his tummy and he wished he hadn’t put on something so tightly fit. Giving him a comforting smile, his hyung spoke up: “Guys, Yuggs and me are going to cut it short. We’re tired and will take the shorter route to the dorm.” Yugyeom shot him a grateful look as Jaebeom nodded and told them they wouldn’t be home too much later.

The pair made their way home in silence and the youngest was glad he wouldn’t have to walk around much longer. His stomach was still cramping just as badly and he was starting to feel queasy. Mark unlocked the door and let them both in, kicking off his shoes. Yugyeom struggled a bit after tying his shoes with a double knot. He fumbled with the laces before finally untying them. Straightening up again, he was hit by a bad cramp, which caused him to crouch down with a pained groan. “You okay?”, Mark frowned, helping him back up when the pain eased a bit, “Should I check if we have some medicine or something?” The younger shook his head, muttering: “I think I’ll be fine if I just lay down a while.” Not wanting to push it, Mark watched him walk off to his room. He only followed him to place a bottle of water on his dongsaeng’s nightstand and tell him to feel better. After that, he left the youngest to rest, hoping the pain would pass as soon as his dinner was properly digested. Yugyeom was glad his hyung respected his privacy because he felt embarrassed by the noisy rumbling of his stomach. Laying on his side, he hugged a pillow to his middle and drew his legs closer to his chest. It had been a while since he had last had a stomach ache this bad and thinking about it, it had probably been the meat. He knew it had looked funny. Being hit with another cramp, Yugyeom bit the corner of his pillow to suppress the pained sound trying to escape his lips. This was not how he had expected his evening to go.

Today was their monthly movie night and as of now, Yugyeom didn’t think he’d be able to participate. He was in too much pain to focus on a movie, let alone be around all the snacks his friends had gathered. The dancer was pulled from his thoughts when there was a knock at the door. “Come in”, he forced out, putting on a smile when Jinyoung entered the room. The older gave him a questioning frown: “You don’t look well. What’s going on?” – “I feel sick to my stomach”, Yugyeom admitted through gritted teeth, burying his face in the pillow when another cramp twisted his stomach. “Do you feel like you need to be sick?”, Jinyoung asked worriedly, relaxing when his dongsaeng shook his head, “Want me to make you some tea to help your stomach settle?” – “H-Hyung, I don’t think I want to put anything in there right now”, the maknae groaned, starting to sweat. The older hummed thoughtfully, instructing: “I’ll let you rest, text or yell if you need anything.” – “Thanks”, Yugyeom mumbled, closing his eyes. He tried to go to sleep in hopes of waking up feeling better but the discomfort was too big to let him rest. The door quietly opened again and Yugyeom glanced at his roommate. Bambam shot him a smile before walking to his closet to get changed into some comfortable clothes for their movie night. He had his back turned on the younger but looked over his shoulder when he heard him let out a pained sound. “You okay?”, the rapper asked. Forcing a smile that turned out more like a grimace, Yugyeom muttered: “My stomach is killing me, please put me out of my misery.” – “Sorry, no can do”, Bambam chuckled, quickly getting changed before sitting down next to his dongsaeng, “Anything I can do to make it better?” The younger shook his head and started to relax when the rapper played with his hair.

Bambam kept him company till there was a knock at the door. The rapper quietly answered it, allowing Jackson to join them. Yugyeom watched them as Bambam explained their hyung what was going on. “Aw, I’m sorry to hear that”, Jackson cooed with a sympathetic smile, “Maybe our movie could distract you from the pain. Do you think you can get up?” – “I think technically I can get up, I just really really don’t want to”, the maknae hummed, already having accepted that he’d miss out on this month’s movie night, “I just want to lay in bed until it goes away.” Feeling his heart clench, Bambam announced: “I’ll keep you company if you can’t join the rest of the group. Letting you suffer all by yourself isn’t right.” Jackson nodded. They wouldn’t let their youngest isolate himself when he wasn’t feeling well. Bambam climbed into bed behind his only dongsaeng and asked hesitantly: “Would it help if I rubbed your stomach?” Yugyeom gritted his teeth, having to wait out the cramp before he could reply: “Don’t touch my stomach right now.” – “Alright, do you think you need to be sick?”, the rapper questioned, Jackson already glancing at the trashcan under the table in case the maknae said yes. Squeezing his eyes shut, Yugyeom groaned: “I’m a bit queasy but mainly it just hurts.” Jackson pulled the trashcan next to the bed just to be safe, while Bambam traced the younger’s back comfortingly.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”, Jackson hummed lowly, unable to see the maknae in that much pain any longer. Yugyeom bit his lip. There was something but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. It was kind of embarrassing and he didn’t feel bad enough to forget about his pride. Nudging his shoulder, Bambam leaned closer to his ear and whispered: “The way you’re hesitating, there has to be something, right?” – “I- It’s embarrassing”, the younger mumbled, hiding his flushed face in the pillow. “If it’s going to help you, there’s no need to be embarrassed”, Jackson smiled. Afraid his voice would crack from how shy he felt, Yugyeom whispered barely audible: “I-I have that microwaveable teddy bear.” – “Oh, you mean like a heat pack?”, Bambam hummed in understanding. The younger nodded. “Where is it?”, Jackson asked calmly, knowing his dongsaeng was so insistent on his independence that he barely had any plushies around him. Hiding his face, Yugyeom muttered: “Stuffed it at the back of my closet.” The older instantly walked over to the closet and rummaged through it, searching for the maknae’s comfort item. “Aw, that’s cute”, Jackson smiled when he pulled the bear out from between the piles of clothes, “Want me to heat it up for you?” – “C-Could you?”, Yugyeom pleaded shyly. It had always helped when he had stomach troubles as a child. Nodding reassuringly, Jackson slipped out of the room and made his way to the kitchen.

The other members looked up from where they were setting up the couch for their movie night. “What’s that?”, Jaebeom questioned when he saw the other with a plushie in his hands. Jackson smiled: “Gyeommie’s heat pack.” – “Oh my god, that’s adorable”, Mark gasped, clutching his chest. The others nodded surprised. It was cute, although they never would have expected their maknae to own something like this. “Oh, by the way, he’s not going to join us tonight and neither is Bambam”, Jackson informed, taking the bear out of the microwave and kneading it to make sure the heat was distributed equally. He hurried to get back to his dongsaengs and handed Yugyeom his teddy bear. The maknae instantly abandoned the pillow he had been hugging and curled up around the new source of heat, sighing when the warmth helped his muscles to relax. Giving a grateful smiled, the youngest breathed: “Thank you, hyung.” – “No problem”, Jackson replied, “I told the others that you two wouldn’t join us for the movie, so try to get some rest.” Yugyeom nodded, closing his eyes. Maybe he’d be able to go to sleep now.

Two hours had passed and the movie just ended. Unlike Bambam, who was knocked out behind him, Yugyeom hadn’t been able to fall asleep. His heat pack had cooled but he didn’t find the energy to drag himself out to the kitchen to re-heat it. The pain in his stomach had barely improved at all but at least he didn’t feel as queasy anymore, so he’d probably be fine by tomorrow, when the food had passed through his system. He looked up when he heard the door creak open. Jinyoung looked at him surprised, whispering: “I didn’t think you’d still be awake but wanted to check on you anyway before going to bed. Do you feel any better?” The maknae shook his head, a low rumble from his stomach confirming his statement. Glancing down at the plushie the youngest had cuddled to his middle, Jinyoung offered: “Do you want me to re-heat that for you?” – “Please?”, Yugyeom whispered, not wanting to wake Bambam. The older nodded and took the bear out to the kitchen. He also made a cup of ginger tea while he waited for the microwave to beep, in hopes it would soothe his dongsaeng’s upset stomach. He took both back to Yugyeom’s room and smiled when the maknae instantly hugged the heat pack. “You don’t have to drink the tea”, Jinyoung hummed quietly, “Just know it’s there. Sleep well and don’t hesitate to wake me up if you need something or feel worse, yeah?” – “Thank you. Good night, hyung”, Yugyeom whispered, cuddling back into Bambam’s arms, a small smile playing around his lips despite the pain.

[chaotic-mom-friend]

Stardew Fic for Shane (aka babey). Hope y'all enjoy.

You've been living here in Pelican Town for roughly a year now. Long enough for people to know you're just a little bit strange, yet endearingly so. You're the first to get to the bottom of the mines, talk with the mysterious beings of the town, and even rebuilt the community center. With the help of the Jumino spirits, of course.

But by far, the strangest choice you've made was falling for the grumpy, moody drunk who first showed his affections for you by cramming a whole-ass pizza into your mailbox. All the same, you saw something in him. You saw the hurting inner child who just needed to know he didn't need to be ashamed, that there were people who loved and supported him. He still had some trouble opening up, but slowly, you were helping him learn to feel safe. True, the other residents could never understand your ultimate choice, but they could appreciate it. After all, Shane did seem much happier with you. He even quit drinking, and every other week went into the city to talk to a therapist. Things were going well...

But the day you find him asleep on the bathroom floor, the thick stench of vomit hanging in the air, a familiar fear creeps into your stomach... Your mind flashes back to finding him on a cliff, drinking away his inhibitions, trying to work up the nerve to jump. Had he fallen off the wagon? He was doing so well... You start practicing in your head what to say to him. Relay that you aren't angry, that you still love him. That you're just disappointed, because you know he can do better.

However, you're both relieved and confused when you come closer, and the smell of alcohol doesn't seem to be anywhere on him. Okay, so he's not drunk... You reach up and feel his cheek with the back of your hand. Oh... Now it makes sense. His skin is clammy and sweaty. You can hear his teeth chatter as his stomach squelches and roils. Shane was doing better (quitting that awful job at Joja and coming to live with you helped), but he was still learning how to take care of himself. You didn't put it past him to eat something bad and give himself a case of terrible indigestion in the process. 

Your warm touch brings him around. He opens his bleary eyes with a moan, a few lingering tears sliding off of his cheek. "Unngh... Babe?" 

A sigh of relief escapes you. At least he's somewhat aware. "I'm here, Shane..." Your hand moves from his forehead to cup his stubbled cheek. "How long have you been here?"

"Don't know," he admits, shuddering as another noisy gas bubble churns its way through his system when you help him sit up. "Just woke up, maybe an hour ago? Came in here, and I-" He was cut off by a small, strained burp, covering his mouth with a fist. You brace yourself for action, but thankfully, it seems to be just a burp. "Ahhh... Sorry." He blushed. "M-my belly's not really happy with me right now..." 

"Let's get you into bed, ok?" You figure he'll be more comfortable there. Pulling his arm over your shoulder, you make sure to move slowly as you stand him up. 

As you make it from the bathroom, his hand comes up to absently rub his bloated tummy to try and ease whatever's going on in there. His brow pinched as another squealing gurgle pushed his intestines around. "O-oh, Yoba..." 

"I know, babe. I know it hurts..." You pause a moment, letting him regain his composure. When he nods, you take baby steps with him down the hall. Making it to the bedroom without incident, you help him stagger to the bed. It breaks your heart the way he curls up on his side, arms around his noisy gut. His shirt is tight around his bloated middle, still churning with whatever wants out. "I'll be back, okay? I'm just gonna grab a few things."

He nodded, though you're not sure if he really heard you. Not that you could be upset with him for it; he was probably focused more on the immense pain in his belly. 

You come back up with a bucket, along with a clean rag, a few bottles of water, and some mint candies. You remember Carol telling you that mint helps a bad tummy. Tentatively, you sit beside him and rub your knuckles against his scratchy cheek again. "You awake?"

"Can't sleep with a demon inside me," he half-jokes.

"Aww, sweet potato... Can I help?"

At your question, he blushes a little. His voice is barely above a mumble. "C-could you... Maybe you could just rub my belly...?" He avoids your line of sight for it.

You smile sympathetically. "Of course. C'mere." Positioning yourself against the headboard, you encourage him to sit up and lay against your shoulder. Rubbing your hands together to warm them up, you lift his shirt a bit and tenderly press your fingertips into his angry tummy. He closes his eyes with a contented sigh, letting his head fall back. One hand works the front of his achy belly, while the other rubs the side in up and down motions. Another gurgle stirs around in his digestive system, telling you that something is moving. Another burp escapes him before he can stifle it, though he at least manages to turn away from you. "S'cuse me," he mutters, still embarrassed, but looking a little more relieved at the room it made for his stomach.

You can still feel his intestines shifting around, quite noisy as they did. "Can you remember what you ate?"

"Urm..." He turns away again and burps into his fist. "Oysters. They... They tasted a little off, I think. But I was so hungry..." 

Food poisoning. Somehow, you're not surprised... But if it gets worse, you resolve to take him to Harvey.

He lets out another little belch, this one airy and choked off. 

"Shane?" You pause your ministrations, watching the color drain from his face.

"I d-don't feel so good," he stammered out, voice thick with nausea. 

You act fast, swiping up the bucket from the side of the bed. Switching your positions, you bring him to his knees and help him lean over the plastic container. You're long since used to this from his mornings of hangovers in the past. You just hope it doesn't hurt him as badly.

He keeps a white-knuckle grip on the sides of the basin, his stomach cramping and gurgling. "Ohhhh..."

"I know, cupcake," you soothe, bracing his forehead to help him stay steady. When he takes in a shaky breath, you know it's coming. His breath hitches at the end and he gags hard, belching up a torrent of sick. Violent splashes hit the bottom of the bucket as his stomach puts in overtime to get it out. This is much worse than when he'd get sick from drinking. At least then, he'd just puke and get it over with, likely feel better after. Here, you could already see him gearing up for round two, shaking and sweating all over. 

"It hurts...!"

"I know it does, baby, I know..." You keep his bangs out of the splash zone as another wave of bile joins the rest of the mess in the bucket, your free hand steadying the container. "Oh honey, I know that's gotta hurt... Just get that nastiness out." The third heave isn't as hard, but maybe it's because he's getting tired. You feel an ache in your chest as he's only able to let out a pitiful whine, before getting sick a fourth and fifth time. "I know, pumpkin. I know... Just get it up. That's it, good job... Good job."

"Guh..." He finally gets a moment to breathe, keeping his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see the mess. His tongue felt like it was coated in fuzz. "I think... I think I'm finished." He spit into the bucket one final time.

You set it aside for now, taking one of the bottles of water to give him a few sips. "Slowly. Just to get the taste out." 

He nodded, doing as instructed. He didn't feel so confident about putting anything in his system just yet, but he wanted that acrid sensation off of his tongue... 

With that out of the way, you work on cleaning his face off. With the same water bottle, you dampen the clean rag and gently wipe it over his face. You wince as you realize that somehow, he'd managed to get it in his eyebrows. Once he was cleaned up, you reward him with a kiss to the cheek. "My poor baby..."

He leaned into you, taking slow, deep breaths. He looks ready to fall asleep. Or pass out. Whichever one brings him some kind of comfort...

Once you're sure his stomach has settled for now, you stand up and take the sick bucket. "Ok. I'm gonna rinse this out. I'll be right back."

He nods absently, indicating that he at least got the gist of what you were telling him. You head back down the hall, dumping out and flushing the mess in the toilet, then rinsing the residue out in the tub.

Unfortunately, Shane's stomach can't keep it in for long. You're in the middle of disinfecting the bucket, when he staggers in, sweat pouring down his face. You look back, alarmed at the sight. One hand grips the sink, the other arm around his gurgling, cramping belly. "Shane?"

"Babe, you gotta move." His voice is strained as another cramp rips through. His knees buckle. 

"Shane, what's wrong?"

"I don't-" his knees buckle together, both arms wrapped around his tummy. "I really can't hold it...! Please, I don't want you to see this!" His voice is filled with panic, and he goes absolutely stiff.

You get the message. You manage to slip past him, letting him quickly shuffle to the toilet as you close the door behind him, just as he's able to pull his pants off. At least one less thing for him to worry about... You wait outside to make sure he doesn't pass out on the toilet. A few seconds pass before you hear him groan in pain, just as what sounds like a bucket of water dumped into the toilet. Worried, you knock. "Shane? You okay in there?"

Another bout of diarrhea violently exits his rear. You can tell he's crying by how he sounds when he speaks. "It feels like my insides are falling out of me..."

"I know, baby... Do you want me to co-"

"No, please don't..." Another choked sob leaves him. "I'm sorry, I... I don't want you to have to see me this way..."

"I don't care about that! I just want to help you feel better. I don't want you to hurt anymore..."

Silence met you from the other side, causing your chest to seize with fear. 

"Shane?"

A few more seconds pass, before you hear the toilet flush. The water in the sink runs for a moment for him to wash his hands, before the door knob turns. He's an absolute wreck when you see him. He's pale as a baby sheep, drenched in sweat, deep violet bangs clinging wetly to his forehead.

"Oh, Shane..." You open your arms to hold him, letting him tumble into your arms. He sniffles, frustrated and exhausted as you stroke his sweaty hair. 

"It hurts so bad," he whispers hoarsley into your shoulder.

This was the first time you'd ever seen him so vulnerable. Honestly, it scares you just a little. "I know it does..." You gently guide him back to bed, bringing him to lay on his side. It's easier for his achy belly and his sore backside in this position. You lay down behind him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. "I'm gonna be right here with you, okay?"

He nodded, too exhausted to be embarrassed anymore. He's glad to have you here. Just the thought of being sick and alone like this scares him. He hoped you knew that without telling you. He could barely form a sentence for the moment. He can barely keep his eyes open.

Seeing this, you drag the blanket over him and up to his shoulders, kissing him again on the back of his head. "I'll be right here, muffin... Just get some sleep."

He nodded again, wincing at the residual cramps that still bubbled up from time to time. Taking your hand, he brought it back to his belly. "Please rub," he croaked. You gladly oblige, tenderly pressing your fingertips into his abused intestines. You're sure to be gentle, trying to help him fall asleep. Now and again, his breath hitches as another cramp hits. Thankfully, you feel his breath even out instead of reaching for the bucket. 

But when he wakes up an hour later, you find yourself helping him back to the toilet. It's going to be a long night...

[aching-tummies]

Chocolate Indulgence

Ever had one of those moments where you're staring down a food-item you know is going to absolutely wreck your stomach...but you know you'll eat it anyway?

Most of the people I know that have a dairy-sensitivity (e.g. lactose, rectin, etc.) tend to have moments like that frequently. They know eating cheese is going to cause Satan-himself to reach in and clench their stomach in his vice-like grip, but one does not simply say 'no' to pizza. Then there's the ones that ensure they've got dibs on the closest washroom before they shovel ice-cream or a milkshake into their system and that particular washroom becomes a hazmat zone for the next three hours. I've seen the latter used with purpose too when this particular someone I knew was pretty backed-up while travelling. He was out with some friends when he realized it'd been quite a while since he had last went no.2. His friends knew about his dairy-sensitivity and their eyes widened when he ordered something with dairy from the shiftiest-looking vendor in the area (he was also a huge germaphobe, so the fact that he went even 3 ft near that vendor already caused jaws to drop). He chugged it, asked his friends to wait around the area for a solid hour or two, and then proceeded to violate the public washroom. He came back looking like the definition of ‘relief’ just as his friends had started to think he had died ‘cuz they didn’t expect him to be in the washroom that long.

While not as dramatic, I sort of had one of these moments last night. Of course, it wasn't just that one moment that led to that, it was a whole day of events that led up to the moment.

I started the day going out to have breakfast with a family member before heading off to work. A favorite fast-food chain had recently opened a location near our place and near the place I worked so we decided to go there for breakfast/lunch, whatever you want to call it. I've been eating less recently, being busy and anxious about work and some other life-stuff...also with my work being at non-consistent hours my family member ends up eating without me and most of the time I'm too exhausted to bother cooking for myself. I live with some fairly judgemental family members who go off on me if I don't clean up properly when they say so and cooking for myself just becomes more of a hassle than it's worth. E.g. I'll make some instant noodles for myself and before I've even taken the first bite they'll come over and start screeching about how I left a cooking utensil in the sink rather than clean it and leave it out to dry before I sat down to eat. I was already eating straight out of the pot I was cooking the thing in, the utensil was a butter-knife I used to get some XO sauce or whatever out of the jar and into the pot...and the butter knife wasn't necessary or useful for eating the noodles. My plan was to leave it in the sink and wash everything all at once in about 20 minutes when I had finished my food. I didn't want to deal with the screeching after hours of dealing with customers and co-workers screeching at me to do a task while I was in the middle of doing another task someone else had screeched at me to do, so I've opted to roll with being hungry for the last few days. My usual routine was wake up, get ready, make a quick breakfast to get me through my shift, come home and stay out of the way until dinner time with my family--if there was going to be a shared dinner-time, and then go to bed.

Yesterday was basically the same. I had breakfast at a fast-food restaurant with a family member who was kind enough to drop me off at work. After work I decided to come home rather than eat out after work (I wanted to save some money). I went home and was already pretty hungry but dinner wasn't going to be for another four or more hours. I ended up taking a nap, realizing after I woke up that I had managed to get through the day without drinking coffee, and that was probably why I ended up napping. I got downstairs to find that my family member had opted to cook for themselves, meaning I was on my own for dinner. I grabbed something small and self-contained to avoid being yelled at for making a mess and went about my business. Hours later, I was getting ready for bed. I couldn't sleep 'cuz my stomach had been growling at me since I started brushing my teeth. I was fairly awake from the nap I had taken so I decided, "screw it--I'll grab something to eat and watch a movie or something before I go to sleep".

What to eat, right? After days of being hungry after work, I decided I deserved a treat. I was really craving something sweet, but the only thing that satisfied that sweet tooth was some coffee I had in the fridge...which I was definitely not going to indulge in. I wanted to sleep eventually and coffee at 2AM was ridiculous. What else is sweet and goes almost hand-in-hand with coffee? Chocolate. Pancakes would make a mess, mug-cake was an option but I didn't want to measure out everything...also, one of my family members has been pretty snarky about finding flour on the counters. Some of it is from them, but since I'm the one that's always making home-made pasta and other types of noodles it's always my fault if there's a powdery substance on the counters. I didn't want to just outright eat chocolate chips like I usually do 'cuz I had already brushed my teeth and felt bad about eating something that would stick to my teeth and add to decay. In the end, I opted for a mug of hot chocolate. I was craving something sweet, specifically chocolate, and hot chocolate fit the bill. If I rinsed my mouth with some water after drinking it then it’d probably be okay.

My usual method is dumping the packet into a mug, filling it about 2/3 of the way with hot water, stirring until the powder is dissolved, and then topping up the final 1/3 with cold 2% milk. The milk makes it richer as well as cools down the contents enough to drink. I hesitated a little about adding the milk, the boba-incident fresh in my mind. I decided "screw it. I don't have to work tomorrow" and I added the milk to the mug. I decided to indulge further. It's been a crappy week walking on eggshells at home and at work and choosing to be hungry rather than listen to family members rant and yell over a bit of flour...so I found some nutella and added a generous spoonful to the hot chocolate. If you haven't tried this, you should (provided you don't have a nut allergy). I recommend dissolving the nutella in the hot-water/powder mix, prior to adding milk. The heat will allow it to melt that much faster. That mug of hot chocolate was heavenly.

I took the mug upstairs and put on something to watch while I enjoyed my chocolate-y treat. A couple of hours later, I was ready for bed.

As I lay down, waiting to sleep, I felt an odd sensation in my stomach. It wasn't painful. It was just shy of uncomfortable. It was an odd feeling I couldn't place. Was I still hungry? Were my guts unhappy with the little bit of dairy in the hot chocolate? It felt like a mild pressure around my navel-area, but my stomach was definitely empty too. I rubbed my stomach a little, staying awake for a while monitoring the feeling, hoping that it wouldn't be a repeat of the boba incident. I didn't have to work the next day, but I didn't want to go about the whole day feeling like a painfully bloated basketball. I don't know if it was gas from the dairy 'cuz I couldn't burp and I didn't feel any gurgles or gas-bubbles moving around under my palms. It wasn’t entirely like hunger either. It felt like there was something sitting in my guts...not painfully, but just present, and my stomach was undecided about whether this something meant it was allowed to be hungry or not. I guess my stomach was confused. It was so late that it was early, usually an hour where everything is asleep, there was dairy somewhere slightly bloating up my guts, but it was also hungry. I had downed dairy on an empty stomach and it was confused...was it supposed to still be hungry? Was it supposed to go to sleep? Was the dairy going to be a problem? To growl or not to growl? 

Definitely not as dramatic as something my dairy-sensitive friends have gone through, but that's what I thought about while I was soothing my stomach before going to sleep. I added the milk to my hot chocolate, wary that it would upset my stomach. Whatever that feeling was, at least it allowed me to sleep. I was still hungry, seeing as the only solid food I had to eat was over 14 hours ago and it was the 'empty calories' of fast food, but at least I didn't have to contend with the gnawing hunger as I tried to sleep. I didn’t add a whole lot of milk into the hot chocolate, so it wasn’t enough to cause some major indigestion. Not sure if this happens to other people too, but I've found that when I sleep on a hungry stomach I wake up with a corner of my pillow in my mouth and a loud and cramping stomach demanding I fill it before it plays the 'nausea' card. I didn't want to spend my day off feeling hungry, nauseous, and contending with indigestion.

As always, feel free to send asks in talking about tummy stuff. If it hits my kinks or I like it, I'll post the reply. If you don't see it odds are either that tumblr ate it or I'm not really interested in it and I can't contact you to say that if you're on-anon. Sometimes I’ll let the ask sit in my inbox for a while until I figure out how I’ll respond to it. I tend to be hungry fairly often lately, so if you ever wanna just send a stab in the dark hunger-RP-esque ask that’s totally fine. I’m not too big on the idea of teasing with food or overly patronizing banter, but tummy-centric stuff like manual stimulation of my hungry tummy for the growls/sensations or some way to torture my aching guts is usually something I’m down for. Hands on a suffering stomach are a pretty steady craving whenever I fall into kink-feels.  Navel-stuff is rare to see, but definitely welcome too. 

[i-am-out-of-my-vulcan-mind]

In Sickness and In Hell

Here’s my next multi chapter fic. I’m really putting poor Jane through the wringer at the moment aren’t I? I’m so mean…

Anyway thank you so much to @lurkingwhump for listening to me drone on about this fic. I truly wouldn’t be able to get anything done if it wasn’t for you <3

Just going to put a bit of a TW in with this. This is for my @badthingshappenbingo prompt “stomach flu” so if you're squeamish don't read ahead.

Jane lay beside her husband, rubbing him softly on his back while he slept. The last eight hours had been hell. She had woken up the night before, only to find Kurt's side of the bed empty.

When she had finally found him, he had been huddled over the toilet retching his guts up.

“I'm ok… go back to bed.” he had said, and Jane had shook her head, falling to her knees beside him.

She had stayed with him on the bathroom floor all night, taking turns between rubbing his back as he was violently ill, and wringing out the washcloth she had placed on the back of his neck.

He had protested, albeit weakly, stating he didn't want her to get sick. She had only shook her head, stating that their vows had said in sickness and in health.

Four hours later, he had finally managed to keep ginger ale down, and Jane had convinced him to move to the bedroom where he would be more comfortable.

She had placed a bucket on the floor beside him, and put a fresh glass of water on his bedside table.

He had fallen asleep quickly, completely drained from his visit with the porcelain God.

**************************************************

Kurt woke some time later, groaning when he tried to roll over.

“How are you feeling?” Jane asked, placing the back of her hand on his forehead.

“Like I've been hit by a truck.” he muttered into the pillow.

Jane smiled, rubbing his shoulder.

“Your fever has broken at least.” she said.

“And I don't feel like I'm going to throw up any time soon.” Kurt continued.

Jane leant forward, kissing him on the forehead.

“I'll get you some Gatorade.” she said, making her way to the kitchen. She returned, helping him sit back against the pillows.

He took the drink off of her, taking a tentative sip. He breathed a sigh of relief, when it hit his stomach, then settled.

“Keep sipping at that.” Jane said. “I'm gonna go make the couch up so we can watch something if you like?”

Kurt smiled. She knew he hated being in bed during the day, whether he was sick or not.

She moved back to the bedroom, helping him out of bed and onto the couch. He was weak, completely spent from the virus he was still trying to fight off. She got him comfortable, before returning to the bedroom to grab the Gatorade and the bucket from the side of the bed.

It was Easter weekend, so they had the next three days off, and Jane was secretly relieved, knowing she would have hated to leave him like this.

****************************************************

They spent the majority of the next day, tangled together on the couch, secretly relishing in the fact that no one wanted to disturb them because they knew Kurt was sick.

Late in the afternoon, Jane was starting to feel a little unwell herself. She shrugged, turning back to the movie, thinking she was probably just worn out. This was the first time in a long time, they had actually spent a couple of days doing nothing. Her body was probably just unsettled because she had finally ‘stopped.’

Another twenty minutes passed, and her stomach was growing notably more upset. She held her breath, trying to ignore the cramps that were starting to rip their way through her system.

“You ok?” Kurt asked, noticing her grimace of pain.

“I'm not sure.” she replied, bringing her hand up to cover her stomach. She exhaled slowly, trying to quell the torment within.

She tensed, as she rode out another wave of pain, a low rumble settling deep in her belly.

“Oh, I think I'm about to be very unwell.” she groaned scrambling to her feet, making a beeline for the bathroom.

Kurt let her go, wanting to give her a little privacy if her stomach revolted at the other end.

A short while later, Jane exited the bathroom, looking pale and miserable.

“You ok?” Kurt asked her again from the kitchen, knowing she probably felt as wretched as she looked.

She shook her head, a defeated smile playing on her lips.

“I think I've caught your bug.” she groaned miserably, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Oh Jane. I'm sorry.” Kurt apologized offering her a glass of ginger ale.

“Don't be.” she said smiling softly. “You told me to keep away and I didnt listen. I knew the risk.” She accepted the ginger ale, taking a tentative sip. “Why do you only get the vomiting though?” she complained, trying to make the situation a little more lighthearted.

Kurt just smiled softly in sympathy, walking around the counter and cupping the side of her head in his hand.

“Guess my body is just stronger than yours.” he said, trying to get a rise out of her.

It worked. She smacked him on the shoulder, before he grabbed her hands and held them to his chest.

“Now now.” he stated.

Jane rolled her eyes, noticing how pale he had become again.

“Why don't you go and sit down?” she suggested. Stronger or not, he was still recovering himself.

Kurt nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Join me?”

Her stomach gurgled loudly. She winced, bringing her hand to clutch at her abdomen as another cramp hit. Kurt place his hand on her shoulder, hoping to give a little comfort as her insides rebelled against her.

She groaned in discomfort, before her eyes widened.

“I think that's me again.” she muttered, heading back towards the bathroom.  

Kurt sighed, staring after Jane. He knew how unwell he had been - and he had only been vomiting. He would take that any day if his wife didn't have to suffer the same fate.

The sound of retching filled the apartment. Frowning, Kurt made his way to the bathroom, knocking softly.

“Jane?” he asked tentatively.

“Don't come in.” she muttered. Kurt sighed, knowing she had started going at both ends.

“Let me know if you need anything.” he said through the door. Not expecting much of a reply, he made his way back to the couch, waiting for his wife to reemerge. He knew she wanted a little privacy, but he would be there if she needed him.

**********************************************

Kurt opened his eyes drowsily. He must have nodded off. He looked at his watch, noticing that a couple of hours had passed. Sitting up, he realised Jane was still missing.

“Damn.” he muttered, getting to his feet and making his way to the bathroom.

“You ok in there?” he asked through the door.

When all he received in response was a weak groan, he opened the door slowly.

“Oh Jane.” he sighed, moving into the bathroom. She was leant over the toilet, her head resting on her arm, eyes closed in exhaustion. She had stripped down to her singlet and had managed to throw her hair into a small bun.

He knelt beside her, rubbing between her shoulder blades gently.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you off the floor.”

Jane shook her head.

“Not ready.” she grunted out, her arm wrapping around her belly protectively.

“Ok, ok.” he said, turning to grab a washcloth from under the sink. He wet it with cool water and wrung it out, placing it on the back of her neck, just like she had done for him a couple of nights before.

She groaned into the toilet bowl as her stomach churned. Before she knew it, she was vomiting  again, heaving up what little was left in her system. Kurt rubbed her back, wishing he could switch places with her.

She panted heavily when she had finally got herself back under control, whimpering at the pain in her abdomen.

“Here.” he said softly, offering her a glass of water.

Jane took a sip, and then lay exhaustively against Kurt. He kissed her softly on her forehead, frowning slightly at the burning of her skin.

“Ready to go to bed now?” he asked, wanting her to be more comfortable. She nodded in response, not quite sure if she could trust her voice. He stood, bringing her up with him. She groaned, swaying against the dizziness that assaulted her at the change of equilibrium. “Easy.” he murmured, steadying her against his chest.

He guided her to their bedroom, helping her under the covers. Moving to the living room, he grabbed the bucket she had set aside for him earlier, knowing he was no longer at risk of needing it. He also poured her a fresh glass of ginger ale - she needed to start rehydrating sooner rather than later.

When he returned to the bedroom, he sighed at what greeted him. She was curled on her side, her knees brought up to her chest, pain etched into the features of her face. He sat down beside her, rubbing her shoulder softly.

“Something’s not right, Kurt.” she whispered, hugging her arms to her stomach. “You didn’t get cramps this bad.”

Kurt frowned.

“Do you want me to call the doctor?” he asked. Jane wasn’t usually one to complain about pain.

She shook her head.

“Not yet…” she ground out. “It’s probably just a twenty-four hour bug like yours was. It’s just hitting me harder is all.”

“Alright.” he said softly. “You tell me if it gets any worse though.” he added, his concern growing by the moment.

Jane didn't reply. She just shifted, rubbing her stomach uncomfortably.

“Do you think you could try drink a little for me?” he asked, brushing the bangs off her burning forehead.

Jane swallowed thickly. The thought of ingesting anything making her feel nauseated. But she knew she needed to keep her fluid levels up, if she wanted to have any chance of getting over this.

She nodded softly, and Kurt helped her sit up. He winced with her, seeing the pain flash across her face from the change in position.

He grabbed the glass off the nightstand and passed it to her. She reached out with shaky hands, sipping slowly.

Not five minutes after she had managed to drain half of the glass, her eyes grew wide, before squeezing shut. She swallowed convulsively, exhaling slowly.

“You going to be sick again?” Kurt asked knowingly, already reaching for the bucket on the floor. When he didn't receive a response, he helped her sit, rubbing her back as she breathed heavily into the bucket, willing the nausea to just stop.

She lost the battle within seconds, bringing up the ginger ale she had just consumed. Kurt's heart broke, watching her crying out at the pain in her stomach. He was starting to agree that something was definitely wrong. He had been sick, but Jane was right in saying that he never experienced stomach pain as debilitating as she was.

When she was done, he helped her lay back against the pillows, too exhausted to do anything, but try and breathe through the pain. He took the bucket to the bathroom, washing it out, before returning to her. He placed the bucket back on the ground and put a cold washcloth on her forehead.

“You ok for a minute?” he asked.

Jane just nodded softly in reply, hugging her knees back to her chest.

Kurt left the bedroom, looking through his contact list and calling their family doctor.

He told him of Jane's symptoms, and the doctor agreed that they sounded more severe than just a normal stomach bug. He told Kurt he would be over within the next hour.

Kurt disconnected the call and made his way back to the bedroom, where his wife was lying in the exact position he had left her. He sat down beside her, turning the washcloth over so the cooler side was on her skin.

“I called the doctor.” he confessed.

Jane frowned.

“Why? I thought we decided I had just got the worse end of your bug?”

Kurt shook his head.

“The doctor agrees that this is more than a typical stomach bug.” he said, rubbing her arm softly. “The sickness aside, the pain you’re experiencing isn’t normal.”

Jane frowned again, choosing not to answer. She was sick of doctors.

“Also I’m a little worried because you can’t keep anything down.” Kurt continued. “I would just feel a bit better if you were checked out.”

Jane sighed, then winced, riding out another wave of pain.

“Oh Jane…” he sighed, hating to see her in this level of discomfort.  “Do you want to try the wheatsack?”

She nodded and Kurt moved off to the kitchen, relieved that he was able to do something to try and make her feel a bit better.

When the wheatsack was heated, he returned to the bedroom, lying down on the bed behind her. He wrapped her in his arms, holding the wheatsack to her stomach, rubbing her back gently with his free hand. She wrapped her arms around the wheatsack, hugging his hand to her middle.

Eventually, in the safety of her husband's arms, the exhaustion overcame the pain and Jane fell into a fitful sleep. Kurt lay with her, still rubbing her back softly, waiting for the doctor to arrive.

[angstyaches]

okay so here is my request: charlie doesn't go to school and shayne is worried so he goes to check up on charlie and see why he missed school just to find him in bed with a really bad stomach bug? cue shayne going out of his way a little to comfort charlie through rounds and rounds of puking and stomach cramps?

Thank you anon, this was such a fun prompt. I hope you enjoy it, and it’s not too rambly. I had no idea how to finish it off, but one can imagine the sick goes on all night and into the next day. Maybe there’ll be a part 2 if I don’t get any new ideas.

Charlie was dreaming about tiny boats being tossed out on the water, bobbing in and out of his view as he gazed out from the dark. He was dreaming about rocks that were more like daggers, jutting into the flesh of his legs and his hands as tears dropped from his face. His heart felt as empty, as hollow, as that cave, and he couldn’t see anything past this moment, as though his future just didn’t exist. Just like he shouldn’t have –

“Charlie?”

His eyes flicked open to find his room in the Mulberry house in semi-darkness, sensing a figure by his side. He rolled onto his side, wondering how he was able to move while the demon, Charlie Two, was also up and about, until his vision focused a bit and he realised this was no demon.

“Hey,” Charlie mumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you weren’t at school.” Shayne frowned and sat at the edge of the bed, next to Charlie’s legs. “So I thought I’d check that you hadn’t gone full demon, murdered your parents, and burned my childhood home to the ground.”

“That’s weirdly specific.” Charlie’s stomach bubbled with what felt like hot lava, burning the back of his throat too. He groaned, wrapping his arms around his belly and burying his face in his pillow. “How – how’d you get in?”

“You unlocked the back door for me, with your telekinesis. Didn’t you?” Shayne frowned, glancing between Charlie’s hands clutching his gut and his face contorting in pain. “You know what? Never mind. Jesus, you look like hell.”

Stomach churning rather noisily, Charlie mumbled a laugh. “Didn’t have time to make myself look cute for you.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely what I meant.”

“Shayne, were you…Worried about me?” Charlie waited, eyes shut, hand over his gut, for Shayne to make a sarcastic or defensive remark.

“Yes?” Shayne said quietly. “Where are your parents? When are they coming back?”

“Sunday.” Charlie’s face contorted with pain. His insides felt like they’d been thrown in a bag and beaten against a wall before being shoved back into him. “They’re on a work kind of thing. Shayne, my – my stomach is killing me.”

As though to make that particular point clear, his belly let out a long, wet-sounding grumble. Charlie jumped a little in surprise when he felt the back of Shayne’s hand glide across his stomach through the sheet.

“It’s definitely not your biggest fan right now.” Shayne frowned. “What’d you do? Pick up a bug or something?”

Charlie gave a sigh, Shayne’s light touches sending cool shivers down through his aching tummy. He had to stifle a yawn. “Yeah, I guess. Hey, that feels really nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know…” Charlie peered out over the sheet, hoping that and the dim light would disguise how red his face felt. “Bet you’re tired too, after being at school all day, and worrying about me so much.”

Shayne rolled his eyes slightly. “And? If I was?”

Charlie wriggled forward slightly, freeing up a little more space between his back and the wall. He shut his eyes as Shayne climbed into bed with him, scooping him gently by the waist and dragging his fingertips up under Charlie’s pyjama top. Charlie didn’t stay awake long enough to hear Shayne asking if he was comfortable.

 ---

He woke with a gasp this time, pulled from that phantom cave by a sharp wrenching sensation in his abdomen. It was like an anchor had been dropped down his throat and immediately yanked up again. He shot forward in bed, feeling nausea crawl up his oesophagus, clamping his hands over his mouth.

“Here – go ahead, it’s okay.”

Charlie let liquid vomit gush from his mouth as his belly cramped and heaved. It drew out the most guttural sound and made his eyes water. He almost fell back with the force of it, but someone was holding him up, pushing gently on his back with one hand, holding the big mixing bowl under his chin with the other. 

He grabbed his mouth again as he hiccupped, pain shooting from his belly into his chest. Shayne rubbed Charlie’s back, eliciting another, but not so violent, stream of vomit to crash into the mixing bowl. Stars flashed across Charlie’s eyes, making the entire room spin. He pawed at the mattress as he lay himself back down.

Shayne reached over to put the bowl on the nightstand. He put his free hand gently on Charlie’s belly so that he wouldn’t accidentally press on it. Once he began settling back down next to him, Charlie kept Shayne’s hand pinned to his stomach and rolled onto his side.

“It hurts, Shayne,” Charlie groaned. “I hate this.”

“I know, I know.” Shayne’s voice was shaking. He could feel Charlie’s stomach gurgling away beneath his palm. Heat was pulsing out of him, but Shayne didn’t know the first thing about fixing that besides throwing back the sheets, which he’d already done. “Charlie, are you sure you can’t get your parents to come back early?”

“I’ll be fine. They –” Charlie whimpered as a roll of nausea made his insides whirl. “They’re looking at prop–”

Shayne made a grab for the bowl and held it to the edge of the bed as Charlie puked again, still lying on his side this time and almost toppling off the mattress. His whole body was racked with the force of the convulsions, and he was letting out pained little whines in between gags.

“Properties?” Shayne breathed, not entirely sure he wanted to press poor Charlie in his current state, but unable to stop himself either.

“Mmhmm,” Charlie mumbled, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his pyjama top and slumping back against Shayne.

“You moving away again?”

Charlie looked up into his friend’s brown eyes, hollow and deep in the early evening darkness of the room. Part of him was relieved to see a hint of sadness there, which was a horrible thought to have. Charlie closed his own eyes as tears welled up, though he wasn’t sure if it was the possibility of having to leave, or the twisting, writhing pain in his stomach that had caused them.

“I don’t – I don’t know…”

He reached for the bowl again, pulling it and Shayne’s hand closer to his face.

“Sorry,” Shayne muttered. “Take your time.”

Charlie winced as what felt like the last scrap of his stomach lining tore its way up his throat. A deep choking sound accompanied the final retch, like every droplet of moisture had evaporated from inside him and he was now a rattling bag of dry things.

“I’ll get you some water, okay?” Shayne climbed down towards the end of the bed, walked towards the door, and turned around again. “I mean, unless there’s something – is there something else I should be doing? If I give you food or medicine, you’ll just throw it up, right? You’ll probably throw the water up again, too. Fuck, how do I know when to call an ambulance?”

Charlie sighed weakly against his pillow as Shayne’s silhouette moved back and forth. “Shayne, you’re panicking.”

“What?” Shayne abruptly stopped pacing the room. “No. No, I’m not. Just – don’t die or anything, alright? I’ll be back in a minute.”

Charlie’s head swam as he waited in the dark. Shayne was so quiet downstairs that he almost imagined he was alone in the house. Alone in a dark cave. Alone in a world where he didn’t belong –

You’re not alone, he remembered. We’re not alone.

Charlie opened his eyes to see Shayne kneeling by the bed with a glass of water. He pushed himself up on his elbow slightly as the glass was tilted against his lips, wetting his tongue and cutting through some of the stale taste of vomit.

“Maybe that’s enough for –?” Shayne started to say, but Charlie kept sipping until his belly glugged in protest. The water felt like it hit boiling point the moment it got inside him, but he was so thirsty, he couldn’t make himself stop. Shayne had to pry the glass away, leaving it on the nightstand next to Vincent the teddy bear.

Charlie swallowed, feeling the water slosh against his diaphragm. He slowly sat further forward to find that Shayne already had the bowl in place for him. He’d washed it out when he’d gone downstairs, it seemed. Charlie breathed deeply a couple of times, holding his belly, but nothing escaped up his throat like he’d expected. His stomach groaned as it fought against itself, and Charlie finally let out a sigh from between pursed lips.

“I think I’m good, for – for now.” He lay back down, relieved but not yet fully trusting himself not to puke again. His eyelids fluttered as he watched Shayne put the bowl away again, still kneeling on the floor as he rested his head on the edge of the mattress.

“You have to go,” Charlie whimpered, eyes darting briefly towards the window that he’d once seen smashed in by a giant creature with bat’s wings. A creature he’d seen so many times again, in his nightmares. He felt his eyes start to tear up. “I don’t want you to get – to get in trouble, or hurt again –”

“Charlie, shut up,” Shayne spoke gently over him. “Just tell me what you need. Tell me what to do. Please. I – I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m –”

“Shayne,” Charlie said gently, though his voice felt slightly detached from his thoughts. “Shut up.”

Shayne looked down at the floor for a few seconds before getting up and climbing back onto the bed. Neither of them knew how to bring up the subject of Charlie’s parents buying a new house again, and as he fell into a shallow sleep for the twelfth - and not the last - time that day, Charlie wondered if Shayne was holding him just a bit tighter for it.

[sickjoonie]

since yoongi gets stress tummy aches and pukes from anxiety maybe you can write on thay?

everything was fine, perfectly fine, absolutely nothing was going wrong.

and by nothing yoongi meant absolutely everything. everything had gone to shit.

they had gotten out of a meeting with their managers over the songs for the next list. to say it went poorly would be like saying that a person with a knife wound was only bleeding a little bit. there had been yelling, it had been ugly, and everyone was a little rattled from it.

apparently they were a month behind schedule which was just lovely, absolutely fantastic, yoongi thought. one of the producers made passive aggressive comments towards yoongi the entire time and if it hadn’t been for namjoon, yoongi wouldn’t have been able to be responsible for himself.

the cherry on top of the cake was jungkook snapping at him afterwards. obviously, the younger was stressed out as well, never taking yelling very well. that’s why yoongi choose to say nothing. he kept his emotions to himself, allowing them to wrestle with his insides.

it wasn’t any surprise to him when a dull ache settled in his stomach on the way back to their dorm. the amount of pressure and stress that laid on him had manifested physically in the form of a stomach ache. yoongi was familiar to it happening. the only solution was to do something relaxing self care then sleep it off.

but there was so much yoongi needed to do right now, he didn’t have time for something like that.

it was no surprise to anyone that yoongi headed right to his studio once they got to their dorm and promptly locked himself in. everyone was too on edge to try to confront him, so they let him be.

hours passed and yoongi drowned himself in his work, ignoring the ache in his stomach. he managed to get a significant amount of work done, pushing himself into the early hours of the morning. his stomach had felt uneasy the entire time.

it was around three in the morning that he finally stumbled to bed, passing out without even bothering to change his clothes. so much for self care.

-

“yoongi hyung, are you feeling okay?”

it had been a couple of days since the first initial stomach ache and over time, both the pain and the stress had gotten worse.

today’s schedule was a long photoshoot. they had gotten up way too early for yoongi’s comfort, scarfed down some breakfast, and driven to the location. from the moment yoongi had woken up, his stomach had been cramping.

a few hours into the photoshoot and yoongi was beginning to feel queasy.

there had been issues with the wardrobe, one of the main staff members showed up late, and everyone seemed to be in a bad mood. the pressure to get started and wrap up before the end of the day weighed down on all of them.

at the moment, yoongi had taken to curling up on the couch behind the scenes, an arm across his stomach. his eyes were closed as he breathed through the nausea.

it was hoseok who found him first.

yoongi opened up his eyes, seeing hoseok standing over him with a frown. hoseok always had an unnerving sense of when someone wasn’t feeling good or was hurt. yoongi had seen it before.

“i’m fine, just tired,” yoongi grumbled. “too early, not enough coffee.”

hoseok rolled his eyes. “you and your coffee.” he sat down next to yoongi, laying an arm behind his shoulders. “here, you can nap on me while we wait.”

yoongi thought about it. it did seem like it’d be more than a hot minute before everything would get going, and hoseok’s chest did look really inviting.

yoongi caved in. he leaned into hoseok’s chest, sighing as he felt himself melt to hoseok’s warmth. hoseok’s arms wrapped around him softly, one of his hands rubbing his back. it was the kind of comfort yoongi craved, especially with his upset stomach.

yoongi dozed off, the pain temporarily disappearing. hoseok knew how exhausted yoongi was. he suspected there was something more to it, though he didn’t dare ask.

when yoongi woke up, everything he had been experiencing the past week came down full force. his stomach growled and cramped, making yoongi’s entire body tense up. the nausea was ten times worse, rolling in a way that yoongi knew he needed to get to a bathroom fast.

yoongi started hoseok by bolting upwards and speed walking out of the room, a hand clasped to his mouth. hoseok quickly got up and started following behind him.

yoongi pushed past staff members, eyeing the bathroom down the hall. he slammed the door open, staggering over to the first stall. as soon as he pushed past the door, he fell to his knees and gagged loudly over the toilet.

yoongi tensed as his stomach cramped, his body curling inwards. he grabbed his stomach and his face grimaced. it was unbearably painful.

he heard someone walk in and cross the bathroom to his stall. soon after, a hand rested on his back.

yoongi felt his stomach seize up and he lurched forward, vomiting into the toilet bowl. he was left gasping for breath, only for his stomach to once again gurgle and lurch and force another round of vomiting on him.

“that’s it, that’s it,” hoseok murmered, his voice unlike its normal hyperness, “just get it all out.”

yoongi coughed once the round was finished wrecking him. his stomach slowly settled. he felt better now that he had vomited, as if his body had rid itself of the anxiety through physical means. though yoongi had a suspicion the ache would return later when the photoshoot starts.

he leaned back and found himself being pulled into a chest by warm arms. he let himself go, his body sagging drastically against hoseok. he weakly clutched onto hoseok’s shirt, needing to ground himself.

“i’m...i’m okay,” yoongi reassured.

“hyung, you spent the last few minutes vomiting your guts out. i don’t think that counts as okay.”

yoongi sighed. “i’m not sick, it’s the stress of everything is upsetting my stomach. i haven’t had time to relax.”

hoseok frowned. if it was to the point of vomiting, the stress had to be bad. “it’s been an awful week, hasn’t it?”

yoongi nodded. he felt so, so tired and sick. all he wanted to do was rest without the impending doom of deadlines or pressure from his peers.

hoseok petted his hair, thinking. “let me take care of you, after this photoshoot. we can’t get out of it, so the least i can do is help you recover afterwards.”

yoongi couldn’t even argue. he was desperate for some relief. “please, hoseok ah.”

hoseok’s heart broke hearing how desperate yoongi sounded. “i promise, i’ll do anything to help you feel better.”

-

hoseok had it all planned out by the time the photoshoot was done. he had watched yoongi closely the entire time, seeing how the stress weighed him down.

hoseok was going to fix that.

once they got back to the dorm, hoseok set to making yoongi some dinner. he choose a simple dish, but one that he knew yoongi liked.

he tracked down yoongi, who was laying in the bed, and smiled. “hyung, i made you dinner.”

yoongi seemed a bit taken back. “what?”

hoseok sighed. “i promised i would take care of you, yoongi hyung, so this is me taking care of you. now come on, you don’t want it getting cold.”

yoongi slowly processed this. finally, he stood up and let hoseok lead him out of the room to the kitchen table. sure enough, food was set out for the both of them. yoongi felt his stomach rumble in anticipation; it was the first sign of an appetite he had had all week.

after the first bite, he eagerly dug in, his appetite coming back full force. soon enough, his plate was empty and he was pleasantly full.

hoseok was done with him yet. once he finished cleaning up the dishes, he dragged yoongi to the bathroom for a bath, completed with scented candles and hoseok washing yoongi’s hair. hoseok knew what he was doing with the way he scratched at some areas and massaged the scalp. yoongi could feel himself automatically relaxing from the pleasant sensation and warm water.

hoseok was always so eager to care for the other members, especially yoongi. it was his motherly nature and desire to see others happy. the thought of it warmed yoongi’s insides and made his stomach feel fluttery. any cold front yoongi might put up melted away at the sight of hoseok.

he even let hoseok dress him in his pajamas. okay so, he might be a little whipped for him.

hoseok joined him in his bed, cuddling up to yoongi and pressing kisses to his forehead and hair. yoongi felt warm, full, and completely cared for. it was easy to fall asleep, his stomach ache having long since left him.

the last thought yoongi had was the promise to return the favor sometime for hoseok.

[kisstheburnsaway]

When Your White Count’s Getting Higher

Original post: HERE  (also there’s this HERE (and it’s gonna get a follow-up one of these days))

Anonymous asked: You think you could do a short story about what happened to Hancock right after he took the radiation drug? (Like what do you think that felt like? Do you think it involved a lot of puking? Do you think it was before or after he became mayor? Do you think at some point Hancock thought he was gonna die?) All I've gotta say is I figure ghoulification is very unpleasant and painful as all hell.

[[Just to be clear, this is based on my own monsterpost about ghoulification from a bit ago + our talks with Bagel where we were figuring out Hancock’s timeline and figured his change “to become a better man” must’ve happened all at once. Personally, I kinda don’t see Hancock becoming mayor and THEN changing into a ghoul and people just being okay with it, especially since this process would have to take two weeks minimum. It must’ve been before he overthrew Vic, but we also know he was human when he was a drifter… so that leaves only one moment in his life when this could’ve happened.]] [[And no, I don’t think he thought he was gonna die. I think he HOPED he was gonna die.]] [[But to everything else I say: yes, yes, and YES. And “enjoy” ;)]]

[[PS. And what do you mean, ‘a short story’? What is this combination of words I’ve never seen before??]]

John brushed his blonde hair away from his face, leaning on his knees over the pill he rolled about in his hands. He wiped his tear-stained face with his sleeve. The image of Tom’s head split open on the sidewalk was still freshly seared in his mind, and John could see it every time he closed his eyes. Tom wasn’t his friend. They didn’t even like each other. But no one deserved such a fate. John remembered how he’d moved towards the body, for no reason he could think of, only to stop when one of Vic’s goons, a walking monster truck called Brett, of all names, had aimed at him with his submachine gun. “Whatcha gon’ do, McDonough?” he’d said mockingly, laughing when John had taken a step back, gritting his teeth. There really was nothing he could do, was there? Just like before. Just like always. There was nothing he could do. Or, he did everything he could. Or was it just something he was telling himself to be able to sleep at night? He stifled a sob as another wave of tears flowed down his face. He wasn’t even a man anymore. He was… next to nothing. Might as well, right? The pill was round and pretty big, a perfect sphere in all regards except for one small indentation probably marking the spot where it would start… John didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to escape the promenade of mistakes that his life was. The image of brains on cement. The bloody body parts scattered in the ruins. He exhaled sharply and swallowed the pill before he could change his mind, washing it down with a bottle of vodka as it made an impossible amount of stops down his oesophagus. Well. It’s done. No taking it back now. All he could do now was wa… The pain began so abruptly it caught him completely unprepared. He doubled down, digging his fingers into his abdomen as it pierced through him, this debilitating power tearing at him from within. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even scream as the pain spread to every part of his body, seemingly even to his bones… and then suddenly let go and diminished into nothing but odd discomfort in the pit of his stomach.

John pulled himself from the ground and sat back on the crate between one display and another in the Old State House storeroom. He could hear steps over his head, guards shifting places, completely unaware that he’d snuck in here just to fuck with them. Just because Vic said he wasn’t supposed to. And Vic was just two floors up, he thought to himself. Every fiber of John’s being wanted only to get his hands on a gun, go up there, and shoot that fucking bastard in the face. See HIS brains on the sidewalk. But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? He gulped what was left of the vodka all at once–and in another minute, he was on all fours giving it all back to the floor. He cursed and grabbed some tarp to clean it up. Oh, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Fuck. It was hard enough to get in here under Vic’s guards’ noses; the last thing he needed was to alert them to his presence by gurgling his guts out and screaming in pain. Yet, somehow, through the mind-clouding nausea and head-splitting headache, he knew it was only going to get worse.

While he still could stand up and move around a little, he slid some display cases in to barricade the door. The last thing he needed was to be found out by someone while… Another wave of nausea sent him to his knees. He quickly latched on to a steel bucket he found in the corner, and when he raised his head, he could see there was blood mixed in with the vomit. Fuck. He could feel it pooling in his mouth, filling it with the taste of iron and… rot? Fuck. He spat it out into the bucket. Then, fever hit. His strength was diminishing fast; soon, it was an exorbitant effort to even turn to the other side as he lay on the tarp on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chin like that was supposed to help with the cramps. Ohh, he was never going to tell another woman she was overreacting. This was karma punishing his ignorance, he was sure of it. And boy, did he deserve it on so many levels. Could he just die yet? He didn’t know how long he lay there–hours? days? weeks?–shivering, no, shaking, really, barely able to breathe, pain clawing at his body as he yearned for the end… His mind barely holding on, and yet still insanely clear. It was like living through every pain of his entire life… and surviving. If he could, he would’ve shot himself in the head right now, just to stop the pain, just to finally rid the world of himself; but also, there was something there… pulling on his consciousness like a child tugging at their mother’s skirt as his brother played nearby… something that wanted him to live. Something that stroked his head and said it would all be… just fine. But how could it? Heart pounding like crazy… Fighting for every breath… like living underwater… Water… Holy fuck, he was so thirsty… Everything was pain. Burning… Even through the haze he could feel his skin… falling off. Every move hurt more than the last, but… was he even moving? Or was he swimming? What was that?… Green skies?… A child…? What…?

When he awoke, he immediately retched out a dark, thick puddle of whatever was left of his stomach, apparently. Everything was… blurry and dark… Ugh, he still wasn’t fully there. Where was he, actually? Old State House? But… Fuck, he was so out of it. Even the worst trips he’d ever had were never this… Never like this. The pain was mostly gone now, though. At least that. John pulled himself from the tarp and saw his silhouette still perfectly painted on it in what looked like watered-down blood and… pieces of him. His hair was spread like an aureola around the place where his head just lay. John wiped his face and nearly jumped out of his skin when he pulled off a good part off his nose straight off his head. He dropped in on the tarp. “What the actual fuck?” he mumbled. That was not how he expected this to go. As he pulled himself up on shaky arms, he suddenly felt how insanely hungry he was. Thankfully, he brought some food with him when he was coming down here, though tatoes were no longer an option. At least… Holy shit. His gaze fell on his blurry reflection in one of the cleaner display cases and John couldn’t help but stare at how much had changed. There was a bony ridge jutting out from where he’d just pulled his nose off. His eyes were pitch black. Every bit of hair he ever had was gone. He couldn’t help but check, but yeah, down there, too. Geez, he should grow up. For some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of that reflection. It still seemed surreal. But then, the world around still felt surreal, too. Was it really him? Did he really…? He stared at his hands, covered in scars and red burns. Hissed, pulling off some fingernails that still held on, even though crooked and clearly dead. God… What has he done to himself? He fell back to his knees. His heart was pounding as he buried his face in his hands. It wasn’t supposed to be like this… This was supposed to fix him… or kill him. He was supposed to be dead. He didn’t deserve to live anyway, not after everything that had…

A shiver went through him. There was a hand stroking his head. He looked up and his black gaze fell into his mother’s warm, gray eyes. “It’ll all be fine,” she said with a comforting smile. “I still love you, baby, even if you’re someone else. It wasn’t your fault. None of it.” Then John blinked and she was gone, and for a second, he felt debilitatingly alone. But he wasn’t, was he? He wasn’t the only disembodied, homeless bastard in this town, in this world. But they were all huddled up, beaten down. Even though all it would take was for one single person to just… get up. And if there was anything John ever did wrong, it was waiting for someone else to get up first. It was right there in front of him the entire time. ‘John Hancock’ written in faded, fancy letters above that silly outfit he’d laughed at before… all this. Before John Hancock. Might as well, right?

> Epilogue: “Hi, Timmy, and thanks for the help,” he said to the drunk drifter he’d paid to keep an eye out for the guards when he’d been sneaking in. “Huuh?” Timmy replied, eyeing him mistrustfully. “Who the fuck are you? Where’s McDonough?��� “He’s gone,” John replied, reveling in what he was about to say. “I’m John Hancock now. And don’t worry, pal…” He patted his shoulder. “…I’m gonna fight for us.”

[atombombbagel]

You think you could do a short story about what happened to Hancock right after he took the radiation drug? (Like what do you think that felt like? Do you think it involved a lot of puking? Do you think it was before or after he became mayor? Do you think at some point Hancock thought he was gonna die?) All I've gotta say is I figure ghoulification is very unpleasant and painful as all hell.

written by @fantomofthehiddles, because they are so much better at explaining this stuff than I am 

[[Just to be clear, this is based on my own monsterpost about ghoulification from a bit ago + our talks with Bagel where we were figuring out Hancock’s timeline and figured his change “to become a better man” must’ve happened all at once. Personally, I kinda don’t see Hancock becoming mayor and THEN changing into a ghoul and people just being okay with it, especially since this process would have to take two weeks minimum. It must’ve been before he overthrew Vic, but we also know he was human when he was a drifter… so that leaves only one moment in his life when this could’ve happened.]][[And no, I don’t think he thought he was gonna die. I think he HOPED he was gonna die.]][[But to everything else I say: yes, yes, and YES. And “enjoy” ;)]]

[[PS. And what do you mean, ‘a short story’? What is this combination of words I’ve never seen before??]]

John brushed his blonde hair away from his face, leaning on his knees over the pill he rolled about in his hands. He wiped his tear-stained face with his sleeve. The image of Tom’s head split open on the sidewalk was still freshly seared in his mind, and John could see it every time he closed his eyes. Tom wasn’t his friend. They didn’t even like each other. But no one deserved such a fate. John remembered how he’d moved towards the body, for no reason he could think of, only to stop when one of Vic’s goons, a walking monster truck called Brett, of all names, had aimed at him with his submachine gun. “Whatcha gon’ do, McDonough?” he’d said mockingly, laughing when John did take a step back, gritting his teeth. There really was nothing he could do, was there? Just like before. Just like always. There was nothing he could do. Or, he did everything he could. Or was it just something he was telling himself to be able to sleep at night? He stifled a sob as another wave of tears flowed down his face. He wasn’t even a man anymore. He was… next to nothing.Might as well, right?The pill was round and pretty big, a perfect sphere in all regards except for one small indentation probably marking the spot where it would start… John didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to escape the promenade of mistakes that his life was. The image of brains on cement. The bloody body parts scattered in the ruins. He exhaled sharply and swallowed the pill before he could change his mind, washing it down with a bottle of vodka as it made an impossible amount of stops down his oesophagus. Well. It’s done. No taking it back now. All he could do now was wa…The pain began so abruptly it caught him completely unprepared. He doubled down, digging his fingers into his abdomen as it pierced through him, this debilitating power tearing at him from within. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even scream as the pain spread to every part of his body, seemingly even to his bones… and then suddenly let go and diminished into nothing but odd discomfort in the pit of his stomach.

John pulled himself from the ground and sat back on the crate between one display and another in the Old State House storeroom. He could hear steps over his head, guards shifting places, completely unaware that he’d snuck in here just to fuck with them. Just because Vic said he wasn’t supposed to. And Vic was just two floors up, he thought to himself. Every fiber of John’s being wanted only to get his hands on a gun, go up there, and shoot that fucking bastard in the face. See HIS brains on the sidewalk. But that wasn’t going to happen, was it?He gulped what was left of the vodka all at once–and in another minute, he was on all fours giving it all back to the floor. He cursed and grabbed some tarp to clean it up. Oh, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Fuck. It was hard enough to get in here under Vic’s guards’ noses; the last thing he needed was to alert them to his presence by gurgling his guts out and screaming in pain. Yet, somehow, through the mind-clouding nausea and head-splitting headache, he knew it was only going to get worse.

While he still could stand up and move around a little, he slid some display cases in to barricade the door. The last thing he needed was to be found out by someone while… Another wave of nausea sent him to his knees. He quickly latched on to a steel bucket he found in the corner, and when he raised his head, he could see there was blood mixed in with the vomit. Fuck. He could feel it pooling in his mouth, filling it with the taste of iron and… rot? Fuck. He spat it out into the bucket.Then, fever hit. His strength was diminishing fast; soon, it was an exorbitant effort to even turn to the other side as he lay on the tarp on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chin like that was supposed to help with the cramps. Ohh, he was never going to tell another woman she was overreacting. This was karma punishing his ignorance, he was sure of it. And boy, did he deserve it on so many levels.Could he just die yet?He didn’t know how long he lay there–hours? days? weeks?–shivering, no, shaking, really, barely able to breathe, pain clawing at his body as he yearned for the end… His mind barely holding on, and yet still insanely clear. It was like living through every pain of his entire life… and surviving. If he could, he would’ve shot himself in the head right now, just to stop the pain, just to finally rid the world of himself; but also, there was something there… pulling on his consciousness like a child tugging at their mother’s skirt as his brother played nearby… something that wanted him to live. Something that stroked his head and said it would all be… just fine. But how could it? Heart pounding like crazy… Fighting for every breath… like living underwater… Water… Holy fuck, he was so thirsty… Everything was pain. Burning… Even through the haze he could feel his skin… falling off. Every move hurt more than the last, but… was he even moving? Or was he swimming? What was that?… Green skies?… A child…? What…?

When he awoke, he immediately retched out a dark, thick puddle of whatever was left of his stomach, apparently. Everything was… blurry and dark… Ugh, he still wasn’t fully there. Where was he, actually? Old State House? But… Fuck, he was so out of it. Even the worst trips he’d ever had were never this… Never like this. The pain was mostly gone now, though. At least that. John pulled himself from the tarp and saw his silhouette still perfectly painted on it in what looked like watered-down blood and… pieces of him. His hair was spread like an aureola around the place where his head just lay.John wiped his face and nearly jumped out of his skin when he pulled off a good part off his nose straight off his head. He dropped in on the tarp. “What the actual fuck?” he mumbled. That was not how he expected this to go. As he pulled himself up on shaky arms, he suddenly felt how insanely hungry he was. Thankfully, he brought some food with him when he was coming down here, though tatoes were no longer an option. At least… Holy shit.His gaze fell on his blurry reflection in one of the cleaner display cases and John couldn’t help but stare at how much had changed. There was a bony ridge jutting out from where he’d just pulled his nose off. His eyes were pitch black. Every bit of hair he ever had was gone. He couldn’t help but check, but yeah, down there, too. Geez, he should grow up.For some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of that reflection. It still seemed surreal. But then, the world around still felt surreal, too. Was it really him? Did he really…? He stared at his hands, covered in scars and red burns. Hissed, pulling off some fingernails that still held on, even though crooked and clearly dead. God… What has he done to himself?He fell back to his knees. His heart was pounding as he buried his face in his hands. It wasn’t supposed to be like this… This was supposed to fix him… or kill him. He was supposed to be dead. He didn’t deserve to live anyway, not after everything that had…

A shiver went through him. There was a hand stroking his head. He looked up and his black gaze fell into his mother’s warm, gray eyes. “It’ll all be fine,” she said with a comforting smile. “I still love you, baby, even if you’re someone else. It wasn’t your fault. None of it.” Then John blinked and she was gone, and for a second, he felt debilitatingly alone. But he wasn’t, was he? He wasn’t the only disembodied, homeless bastard in this town, in this world. But they were all huddled up, beaten down. Even though all it would take was for one single person to just… get up. And if there was anything John ever did wrong, it was waiting for someone else to get up first.It was right there in front of him the entire time. 'John Hancock’ written in faded, fancy letters above that silly outfit he’d laughed at before… all this. Before John Hancock.Might as well, right?

> Epilogue:“Hi, Timmy, and thanks for the help,” he said to the drunk drifter he’d paid to keep an eye out for the guards when he’d been sneaking in.“Huuh?” Timmy replied, eyeing him mistrustfully. “Who the fuck are you? Where’s McDonough?”“He’s gone,” John replied, reveling in what he was about to say. “I’m John Hancock now. And don’t worry, pal…” He patted his shoulder. “…I’m gonna fight for us.”

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

Hi I hate to ask this but I've had the worst day of my life, a sprained ankle and then a car accident. It's been horribly rough. Could I get a small one shot Lucas fic of taking a liking to and comforting a found captive?

Don’t apologize for asking, Anon. That sounds like a terrible day. I hope you recover mentally, physically and financially very soon. Car accidents are terrible and a sprained ankle is rough. I hope this fic helps ease some of the crappy feels that today has given you. Much love for you on your road to recovery. <3

It started off with Lucas getting bored enough to watch all the VHS tapes he could salvage - ending up with a bundle of his Ma’s collection and nothing else to do. So, he sat around with his thumb up his ass and suffered through Beaches, Titanic and… some stupid Wayne Newton thing while eating bags of cheese puffs and peanuts.

By the end of Steel Magnolias, he felt like someone had ripped his balls off and sewn a pussy on him. All he could think about was cuddling and fawning over a girl of his own, and it made him nearly sick.

He sat around for another two days thinking about what it’d be like to have a girlfriend and jus’…hold hands. Hold hands?! Like he was some fuckin’ prepubescent brat. He wanted to fuck and cum balls deep in some hot cunt, not sit around and hold hands all day. But he did, and so he sat around with a blank TV and a heartache, not knowing what to do with himself.

On the third day of his self-inflicted misery, the ol’ man came in with two bodies.

“Morgue’s overrun, boy. I’m sticking these down in the stalls. They ain’t been fed yet so don’t you touch ‘em, ya here?!”

“Whatever,” he replied, not thinking twice about it cause on account of the goop his brain had become and got a nice crack in the back of his head with a baseball bat for his trouble.

After dear ol’ dad had taken down a charter bus full of shitheels lookin’ to spend the weekend in New Orleans for the big fuckin’ Mardi Gras parade, Lucas got stuck with two captives when the basement started overflowing with new arrivals. Two too many, he grumbled, hearing one of them start screamin’ after only two hours strapped up.

Ain’t nobody got time fer this, he thought.

He had other shit to do (he didn’t), and it wasn’t even like he could use ‘em for test subjects either so what good were they but an annoyance? They’d both been there since this morning, and it only took until now for Lucas to realize one of ‘em wasn’t screaming - hadn’t been since Daddy brought ‘em by.

Typically it wouldn’t peak his interest - the silence - but the last bitch he’d tossed in the rat’s nest had long since turned to bones, and he was bored. The tapes had made him weak at heart, and he couldn’t stand watching another one of his Ma’s sentimental tear fests.

Just the thought was making him wanna puke.

Lucas hunched over his desk, frowned and gave the little joystick a push to the right, panning camera nine over to the quiet one all tied up in one of the horse stalls.

A girl, Lucas noticed immediately. She was quiet, reserved and hadn’t moved much. Without much reason to, Lucas hadn’t gone down since they’d been brought in and secured to their posts. He hadn’t bothered to look at ‘em either since he wasn’t supposed to play with ‘em. Shoulda took a little trip down though, cause the chick looked kind of hot once he zoomed in a bit. Get rid of the blood and dirt, and she’d been the nicest lookin’ bitch to ever get past the gates.

“Ain’t it just peachy ah’ get stuck with a dumb whore in the barn…” he grumbled.  She looked like one too (not really), but guess that coulda’ been the fact that she’d been stripped down to her panties. At this angle, he couldn’t see her tits, but her back was bare, so she wasn’t wearing a bra or nothin’.

Shame - shame he didn’t have a good angle for a free viewing.

His Pa never said he couldn’t have himself a look-see. As long as he didn’t chuck her in the Birthday Room, who cared if he had a little fun? All he wanted was a look and maybe a hug or some snuggles - No! No, he just wanted to watch her heaving tits as he jerked off on the floor in front of her. He wanted to slip his dick between ‘em and… ugh…

Lucas wanted good night’s sleep with a warm body beside him, in all honesty. It got pretty lonely now that he was off the grid more or less - just enough connection established to contact his people and set up communication between all the cameras and speakers. No more porn to toss his rocks off to. No cam girls to watch while he fucked his fist, pretending it was a pussy. And now, worst of all, he’d brainwashed himself into wanting something more innocent than a good fuck. Maybe when the girl down in the barn passed out, he’d go lay next to her…

The girl down in the stall shifted, stretching a long pale leg across a bed of musty hay.

Shit! Where was his Polaroid at? Worse case scenario he’d snap a picture of her and lay in bed looking at it like a freak.

Four upturned boxes and a messy bed later, Lucas was loading up his ol’ polaroid camera with a dozen blanks, fingers shaking. He was only a bit ashamed of how low he was willing to go for some semblance of intimacy, but hell… he was desperate, and it was hard enough keeping his head clear as it was.

It was pretty pointless, but he rubbed his face clean of the blood from earlier and threw his door open. Lucas kicked his heels into the stairs, eyeing the molded that were hanging off the walls. They’re gaping jaws clicked open, swinging towards him jus’ enough to know it wasn’t some escapee running fer the hills. One of ‘em gurgled, gagged and puked up a messy wad of bones as Lucas passed it by.

Easily ignored, when his heart was busy jackhammering at the thought of this girl his Pa had brought in.

The girl was sitting in the stall, a chain wrapped around her waist, connecting her manacled wrists and branching out to the pole she was resting against. She didn’t have much wiggle room, but all in all, it wasn’t as bad as getting cramped into one o’ them dog crates.

She didn’t even bother lookin’ at him as his sneakers crunched over brittle hay, pausing outside the wooden gate. A fountain of pale hair hung down in front of her face, covering the tops of her tits.

“Hey-hey, come on, bitch! Wake up!” He snorted as she jerked but did little else. Only when he growled and gave the gate a hard kick did she swayed. A hint of perky nipple poked out of her thick hair as she lifted her head; blood-matted hair slipping out of her eyes. Blue eyes, like his own, looked up at him, gazing under wet lashes.

She was a hottie, and Lucas was struck half dumb for a good long minute jus’ looking at her.

“My leg’s broken,” she whispered. Pain made her voice throaty, ragged enough he found himself licking his lips, wondering if he should have brought her a soda or somethin’. He palmed his Polaroid, nodding to her with the tip of his chin.

“I’ll set it fer ya if ya give me a smile. I’ll even bring you upstairs and get ya somethin’ to eat. How about that? Sounds like ah sweet little deal, don’t it? Jus’ gotta say cheese!”

“It doesn’t and I won’t,” she said, leaning back against the wooden pole, exposing her bare tits through a curtain of dirty hair, uncaring.

Lucas popped himself a picture without obscuring his view with the shitty glass lens. All she did was blink at the flash and nothing more. No rebuttal, no tears or anything else he’d have expected. Hell, Lucas even had a running shower up there. How could she say no that kinda offer?

Slowly, checking the barn entrance with a narrowed look, he smashed the lock on the gate and swung it open. The noise or the implication made her stiffen over the hay bed. In her lap, she curled her fingers and closed her eyes. Dry, cracked lips, which probably looked pretty full and sexy when she wasn’t dehydrated, mouthed words… no, they mouthed numbers.

Lucas shoved his shoulder into the wooden post as he read her lips while she chanted math equations, solving for X and Y in some weird, brainy coping mechanism. Probably thought he was gonna rape her or somethin’. All the chicks that came through here thought he would…kinda got insulting after ah while.

“Ya forgot to carry the four, sweetheart…” he told her, watching as she ignored him, continuing despite her fuck up.

Kinda interesting. Usually, everyone just begged and screamed for someone to come rescue ‘em - like they were a princess in some wild fairy tale. This one accepted her fate, or at least what she thought was gonna happen, and did her best to prepare for it. Lucas liked that - respected it. And so he yanked the film from his camera, gave it a couples flaps until the badly lit sight of her with those cute tits came full color. He threw the picture at her, snorted when she kept on dividing and subtracting and left her there.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Lucas got itchy again.

All night he’d been watching her through the camera, ignoring the stupid asshat in the stall beside her as he screamed. It was hard to see through the snowy lenses, but Lucas was pretty sure she was still miming mathematics to herself. She didn’t sleep, at least not for more than half an hour maybe. Her unbroken leg would kick or stretch and once he saw her turn her head up towards the camera, staring at him.

“Come and do it already,” she’d say, making his gut churn sickly.

After his ol’ man had come in for the retard with the broken vocal chords, Lucas stuffed a bag of skittles in his pocket, grabbed a can of soda and hopped the stairs to see his adorable brainiac.

She was docile, only watching him, never begging, as he swung the gate open and stepped inside. The stall was narrow but spacious, but Lucas threw himself down beside her despite having enough room to host an orgy if he wanted. The girl tipped her head back and breathed deeply, ready for whatever she thought he was gonna do.

“Skittles?” he offered, shaking the packet near his jaw with a feral grin that made his cheeks ache. He’d forgotten how to smile, so a grin would have to do.

The barest touch of her tongue between her lips made Lucas swallow. In her lap he noticed her fingers twitch.

“…why?”

He didn’t need a reason, but he had one, ‘course he did. Lucas wasn’t gonna tell her, though, so he just shrugged and tore the corner off the packet, shaking a few into his palm. All he needed to do was stare at her hands fer a few seconds before she got the idea and offered her palms to him; shackles clinking. Bruises and bloody scabs ran like bracelets around her wrists.

He dropped a few sickly bright skittles into her palm and watched her wince, trying to put them in her mouth. If he weren’t so sure she’d bite his fingers off or curl her nose in disgust, he’d have fed them to her.

“So, ya like numbers, huh?” He waited for her to say something, but she merely sucked the Skittles in her mouth with half-closed eyes; savoring the sugar in silence.

“Me too,” he sighed, scooting a little closer to her until he just missed bumping her broken leg.

“My Pa said I was gifted when ah’ was younger. But hell! - Guess geniuses go crazy every damn day, huh? Jus’ another one with a bad brain.” It felt better talkin’ to someone that wasn’t Eveline…or imaginary like Oliver had been (sometimes still was). Even if she didn’t talk back, Lucas liked laying back in the barn with her. Nothin’ else better to do anyhow and it was the closest he dared to get to something resembling cuddles. Not that he wanted that… obviously.

“… can I have some more?” she asked, sounding so tiny and small that somethin’ in Lucas started to hurt. He looked up at her from the soft ground, saw how empty her eyes were - like a dead sea - and handed her the whole bag of skittles. The little, hopeless smile she gave him made his chest tighten like there was a hook buried in it.

The only thing that sucked about dosing himself with that serum was all the emotions he had coming back to him. That’s all it was. Could’ah done without ‘em, if he were honest, but the girl ate her candy through the pain, meeting her hands halfway down and somethin’ about giving her that little act of kindness made him wanna do more and more… and more.

For the next two days, he spent most of his time either telling himself not to go down and see her, or sitting with her in the barn, feeding her junk food, handing her bottles of water or talking to her (actually talking to himself, but that was neither here nor there).

Eventually, he went down to see her with a real goal in mind - not just trying to keep her alive. He brought the bolt cutters with him. The ol’ man wouldn’t sweat one little captive - not when he had dozens of ‘em fresh and ready to be hatched. If his Pa said anything, Lucas could just tell ‘im the molded got hungry and climbed the gate. Easy.

She withdrew at the sight of him with the cutters in hand, but still, she didn’t beg or scream. Lucas cut her chains without a word and tore her manacles off as easily as if they’d been clay. When he grabbed her around the waist, careful of the raw red skin where her chains had been, he felt her muscles tighten. Not one to take that shit personally, Lucas tried to smile but ended up grinning and slung her over his shoulder… only then did she scream. He could feel her tears soak through the back of his hoodie and her broken leg bang against his chest.

Lucas tried not to let the sounds of her agony bother him, but they did. Every step made him wince as she bawled her eyes out, shouting and begging him to stop - that it hurt 'it hurt so bad!’

In a few minutes, she’d be right as rain, but the pathetic, sloppy sounds still wedged their way under his skin somehow.

She sobbed when he set her down on his couch, fingers running along her broken thigh like fluttering leaves; listless. Pain lined her body - her face and brows. The lights above their heads highlight the heavy fall of tears that made Lucas feel guilty for some fucking reason. Not like he’d broken her leg…

He grumbled and left her there to her misery as he went to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of the good stuff for her and his last candy bar. Maybe she’d be more apt to forgive him if he showered her with sugar. Wouldn’t hurt, right? - And he was pretty desperate at that point.

When he returned, she was halfway across the floor, dragging herself towards the door. A long, scattered line of dark blood following her line a snail trail.

“Hahaaaa’ah shit, sweetheart. Where’d you think yur goin’? Ain’t nothing out there but moldy freaks with them teeth waitin’ fer ya,” he laughed at her, hamming it up as his gut pulled when she merely whimpered and pulled herself another few inches across the floor.

Badass, bitch. Smart and sturdy and cute… didn’t find many of those anymore. Not that Lucas would know really. He never did get out much before Evie showed up - didn’t do much talking to girls even before he was labeled the crazy head.

Lucas swallowed and knelt down beside her, pulling at her ankle. She howled, hissed and threw a fist into his face. Took him by surprise, but it was weak and barely did more than sting. He hadn’t meant to pull at the busted leg like that.

Didn’t matter, though. He was gonna fix her, and she could hit him all she wanted if it made her feel better, Lucas could take it even if she broke his jaw. He gave her a hard look and poured the bottle’s cool, slick contents over her thigh.

Those wet blues fluttered closed, as the shit took effect.

“… I can feel my bones snapping.”

Lucas grinned, biting his lip to keep most of the infectious glee inside until he could breathe it back down, “Yeah, how about that? Feelin’ pretty good by now I reckon.”

She twisted at the waist, running a hand over her healed thigh before giving him a calculating look, “I-I don’t understand.”

“Bout what?”

“Everything,” she whispered, pulling her legs in, laying an arm over her chest with a slight blush. Guess now that she wasn’t in so much pain she had enough sense to be embarrassed by her tits hanging free. Lucas liked lookin’ at ‘em, but that free fun was over. If he’d wanted to keep ogling her, he coulda just kept her in the horse stall. Naw, Lucas wanted her - wanted to hug her close and wash away the blood and dirty, pat the wounds dry and kiss them better. It was real fuckin’ sappy and stupid and yet he didn’t bother worrying about it now that her leg was healed.

“T-this,” she started, inhaling brutally as Lucas dared put a hand on his calf, “you can’t kill her, take her away from me like that - you can’t snap my fucking leg in half and throw me in some damn pig pen and… and… and feed me candy like some pet and now this?!”

Lucas frowned, feeling like someone had a knife stuck in his stomach, giving it a good wiggle with each seething word.  She shook and cried silent tears, staring heatedly at him while he sat there frozen, just wanting to wrap his arm around her.

As more grief poured outta her, her lips started to quiver like they were hooked up to car batteries, “That asshole h-he killed 'er and now you wanna… just do it already! Just do it!”

Her fists coiled and like a feral cat, she came at him, throwing a jab at his chest and another up into his chin.

Lucas hissed, grabbing at her wrists and pulled her up over his thighs, keeping her claws out of his eyes as she trembled and sobbed; leaking wet tears down into his lap. The only crying girl he’d helped was Zoe when they were teenagers when some cunt had called her fat during lunch. This was… Lucas tried to stop looking at her tits as they bounced while she cried - sought to halt the boner from growing between his legs as her hair tickled the back of his hands. Her eyes opened wide, stared up at him, and suddenly she collapsed into his chest; sniffling.

“Ain’t gonna rape ya…” he told her; pretty lame sounding in truth, but he wasn’t sure what to do with a crazy chick in his lap, curling her fingers around his sides… hugging him hatefully. Bitch was insane, but Lucas couldn’t ignore the warmth he felt as she held him around the middle, trying to suck some sort of comfort from him.

Lucas found himself wrapping his arms around her, holding her bare shoulders, rubbing her shivering, naked back as she whimpered into his chest. Shit circumstances and all, but Lucas loved every second of the contact. She was warm and soft…

“Shh… Hush, now,” he muttered, doing what his Mama used to do for him when he had nightmares… or scuffed up his knees on the stairs. The words just sorta came out without much thought to it, and before Lucas knew what was happenin’, he was whispering sweet nothings to this chick while she breathed easy against him. There on the floor, he held her, feeling her heart thud gently against his stomach.

It was the first real intimate contact he’d had since Eveline showed up, long before that even…and suddenly he couldn’t get enough of it. Lucas groaned, pulling her up and cradled her carefully in his lap. She only struggled for a second before sinking into his arms silently, breathing slow and gentle. Lucas inhaled the stale, blood tinged smell of her hair, found something sweet buried underneath the dirt and sighed.

“Thanks,” he muttered; lips on her scalp. Down beside his stomach, he felt a soft touch, like a thumb brushing the jut of his ribs and shuddered in pleasure.

If this was how good it felt to be held - to hold - and offer comfort then Lucas decided he wasn’t gonna let his Pa get this one. Lucas was gonna keep her safe and sound, and she wasn’t ever gonna feel pain again. If he had to kill ‘em all… he’d do it, just to keep her from cryin’ ever again.