#trigger warning vomiting

[pixlokita]

Started sketching the next page since we’re all sick so might as well take it out on Mike Lmao-

[bbl0ndyy]

Today had my first purg3 in like 6 months :(

[ukrieger-official]

I wanna see Rich when he's having a real psychotic breakdown, the worst of the worst

I tried to get my point across without making something too graphic so here

If you would like the completely uncensored version, please message or ask in the comments.

[1heartfanfics]

Hi, I write sickfics too. But I'd love a sickfic written for me this time. Lol. Either a really sick Dean needing Sam to care for him, maybe after a really bad hunt. Or super sick TK, needing his dad to call Carlos to take of him. Or maybe a really sick Bucky, with a freaked out Peter swinging around frantic to find Steve to help the man while in the middle of a fire fight. :) Emeto galore would be much appreciated. Pretty please!!!

okay so I decided to write it for tarlos because I just watched the mid season finale, but let me know if you want me to do the supernatural one too.

Also this ended up getting a bit de-railed toward the end and being more about Owen coming to terms with the fact that T.K. has Carlos now and doesn't need him as much as he used to instead of actual caretaking. Whoops 🤷‍♀️

warning: depictions of vomit, brief mention of addiction history

T.K. had woken up with a headache. But that wasn’t uncommon, side effect of being a recovered addict he’d been told. So he didn’t think about it too much.

But it kept getting worse, even though he’d been sure to drink enough water and eat throughout the day. And then he realized when he helped Nancy lift a patient onto a gurney that his whole body ached. 

“You good?” Nancy had asked.

“Fine,” T.K. responded shortly. Nancy gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him, but she let it drop. 

By the end of their next call, he was dizzy and cold. They’d just dropped the patient at the hospital and we’re heading back to the station. 

“Hey. What’s wrong with you?” Nancy asked as she drove, glancing over at T.K., who was practically slumped against the window in the passenger seat. 

T.K. shrugged, “Not feeling super great I guess,” he admitted. 

“You need to tell Captain Vega dude,” she said as she pulled the ambulance into the station bay. 

“Shifts almost over anyway,” T.K. shrugged again, shaking his head. 

But then as soon as they’d parked the klaxon sounded. ‘Aid car BLANK requested’

“Alright then, let’s just head back out,” Tommy called from the back of the ambulance. 

Nancy shot T.K. a look. His face was pale, even more than it already had been. T.K.’s stomach, which had become increasingly upset for the past hour or so, suddenly flipped. He knew he was done for. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, then threw the door open and practically fell out, landing on his knees with a retch that brought his lunch up onto the floor of the station. 

“Woah!” Someone said, then T.K. felt a hand on his shoulder and his back. 

“Who else is a certified medic?” Another voice asked, Tommy maybe. Everything sounded far away and T.K.’s head was spinning. 

“Yo Marj! Paul!” The voice behind him yelled. Judd, T.K. could tell now.

There were footsteps approaching and then “Woah what happened to him?”

“One of you take T.K.’s place in the rig with Tommy and Nancy. The other one of y’all go get captain strand,” Judd instructed. 

T.K. could hear people running around, then the siren as the rig pulled back out of the station.

"Come on brother, let's get you up," Judd said, grabbing T.K. under his arms and pulling him to his feet. With Judd's help, he walked unsteadily over to one of the benches the firefighters use to put their boots on. As soon as he was sitting he slumped over, head in his hands as he breathed through another wave of nausea.

"T.K.? What happened?" his Dad was asking, suddenly at T.K.'s side with a hand on his shoulder.

When T.K. didn't answer Owen turned to Judd for answers.

"I just saw him spill out of the rig to hurl on the floor, that's all I know. You'd have to ask the girls but they had to run back out on a call. I sent Marj with 'em since they're down a medic," Judd shrugged.

"Thanks Judd," Owen sighed. "I've got him, you can get back to whatever you were working on."

"You sure? Cause he's looking pretty green cap," Judd pointed out.

"Son? Are you still feeling nauseous?" Owen asked.

T.K. just groaned in response, he didn't think he'd ever felt this sick in his life. It had gotten so bad so quickly. He was going to throw up again.

Thankfully Judd was on it, and a trash can magically appeared between T.K.'s knees just in time for him to heave over it. His body convulsed with another gag which brought up more of his stomach contents into the bin.

"Aw jeez kiddo," Owen muttered, sitting down beside T.K. to wrap an arm around him and rub a hand up and down his arm.

T.K. coughed and spit into the trash can, willing his stomach to stop contracting. There wasn't anything left in it to bring up. He felt so weak, like he could hardly hold himself up.

"Woah alright, I've gotcha," Judd was sitting on his other side, an arm wrapped around his chest to keep him from falling forward. T.K. dropped his head down into his hands again, elbows propped on his knees to keep himself upright.

Once Judd was confident that T.K. was stable enough, he pulled back, looking over at Owen. "We need to get him laying down," he said.

Owen nodded, "I think I'm just going to take him back to the house. You mind taking over for the rest of the day?" he asked.

"Of course cap, whatever you need," Judd agreed.

"T.K.? I'm going to get my stuff and then we'll go home okay?" Owen said, leaning down to try and meet his son's eyes.

T.K.'s eyes were shut, but he shook his head in response.

"No?" Owen asked, confused.

T.K. shook his head again, "Just call Carlos, please," he said quietly.

"Right. Of course," Owen was taken by surprise, although he really shouldn't have been. T.K. had moved in with Carlos months ago, that was his home now. And Carlos was T.K.'s person, the one he wanted to take care of him.

He looked at Judd, who nodded, silently answering Owen's unspoken request to stay with T.K. while he called Carlos.

"Your dad's calling Carlos now, I'm sure he'll be here soon to get you home. Just hang in there," Judd said, rubbing a hand over T.K.'s back.

As promised, after Owen returned from making the phone call, Carlos arrived within 10 minutes.

"Oh sweetheart," Carlos sighed when he spotted his boyfriend, hunched over a trash can.

Judd quickly stood up, allowing Carlos to take his spot. Carlos wrapped his arms around T.K., gently pulling him from the slumped position to rest against his chest. T.K. went willingly, pressing his face into Carlos's shoulder.

"Thank you for calling me," Carlos said, addressing Owen.

Owen nodded, smiling softly as he watched Carlos take care of his son. He hadn't missed the way that T.K. instantly relaxed a little at Carlos's touch.

"Let's get you home baby," Carlos said quietly. T.K. nodded, letting Carlos help him to his feet with a hand on his elbow and his waist.

"Let me know if you guys need anything," Owen told Carlos.

"Thank you," Carlos nodded, "I've got him, Owen," he added, seeing the worry on the captain's face.

Owen nodded, reaching out to softly clap Carlos on the shoulder, "I know you do." Carlos gave him one last nod, then wrapped an arm around T.K.'s waist and slowly guided him out of the station toward his car.

As much as Owen worried about T.K., he was realizing that maybe he didn't need to as much anymore. Because while most of T.K.'s previous boyfriends hadn't treated him very well, he had Carlos now. Carlos, who clearly loved and cared for T.K. so much. Owen was glad they had found each other.

[sirfrogsworth]

Mounjaro's Revenge: The Inevitable Adventures of Froggie, Chapter Unknown

I keep saying I can't leave the house without having some kind of adventure. And I really thought I was going to have a quick, uneventful doctor's visit with my monthly checkup this past Wednesday. I'd go in, they'd check the box Medicare requires every month, and I'd come straight home.

But adventure seeks me out. I can't seem to escape its grasp. And, yes, sometimes I like having adventures. They give me something to write about. And sometimes they are fun memories. But sometimes adventures just make me tired. And not all adventures are positive.

For the past 3 weeks I have been on the second dosage amount of Mounjaro. Unlike the Ozempic, I have had a few issues with side effects. Roughly 48 hours after my injection, I get sick to my stomach and feel pukey. It lasts for about two hours. I either vomit and lose the urge or I hold it in and it fades. I am then compelled to take a nap.

Considering the weight loss and glucose control, getting sick for an hour or two per week isn't a huge deal. There is a good chance I will get used to the medication as time goes on, but even if I don't, I am okay with this consequence.

My injection day was Tuesday, and based on past experience, I figured I'd have until Thursday morning before I got sick. The past 2 episodes happened at almost identical times, so I figured Wednesday wouldn't be a problem.

But right before my doctor's appointment I started feeling extremely... rough.

Optimistic for no good reason, I was hopeful I could get through the appointment before the urge to vomit arrived.

I get to the office and there are 3 patients ahead of me. This was not a good sign. My doctor tends to overbook and I was probably going to have a bit of a wait. I arrived in the middle of a lively conversation about where to get a good steak in St. Louis. I'm used to waiting rooms being full of quiet and bored people staring at their phones so when I opened the door it felt like the conversation smacked me in the face.

The cast of characters were as follows...

There was an older black man who had the spirit of a kindly grandpa. He seemed nice and wise and was enjoying the steak conversation. Let's call him, Old Guy.

There was an older white fellow who was anxious about the wait time due to having another appointment soon. He was on hold with the other doctor's office trying to delay his appointment time. He was only mildly interested in steak due to that distraction. I already used Old Guy, so... Anxious Guy.

And then there was the steak expert who was leading the conversation. Actually, leading is not strong enough. He was *dominating* the conversation. As I sat down and his visage entered my field of view, I was a bit taken aback.

Do you know how in Star Trek everyone has a mirror universe doppelganger who may look the same, but they usually have personality traits that are reversed?

They are often identified by arch overacting or a change in facial hair.

The steak expert was my mirror universe counterpart. He was of similar age, height, and weight. Same color hair and eyes. He even wore similar clothing.

But he had a goatee instead of a beard. *gasp*

And he wore... sandals. *double gasp*

He had clearly been in a recent transporter mishap.

I mean, I could *never* wear sandals. The world is not ready to handle my nude foot and I find very few sandals have the load-bearing capacity necessary for people my size. You are asking for foot pain if you are over 300 pounds and wearing sandals.

Mirror Froggie was very outgoing and personable, but he had trouble filtering what he said and was often obliviously rude. He clearly thought himself to be hilarious but struggled to make even kindly Old Guy chuckle.

Old Guy said, "I think Longhorn makes a decent steak for the money."

And then Mirror Me's unfiltered response... "Longhorn is shit. You shouldn't eat there. You are wasting your money on shit steak."

"I don't know, I've always enjoyed..."

"I'm telling you, friend, it is shit steak. End of story."

You could tell that made Old Guy feel bad for suggesting what he liked. But he brushed it off and asked for a better suggestion. Mirror Froggie confidently told him of a restaurant called "Sam's" that had "the best steak in town."

Old Guy proceeded to ask Siri to look up Sam's and it took a few tries. He reminded me of my dad fighting with the iPhone and repeating things over and over with increasing volume. I think Old Guy wasn't specific enough as he got the wholesale club on the first few attempts. Finally he said, "SAMMM'S STEAKHOUSSSSE" and found success. Old Guy saw the reviews and some of them were... not great.

But Mirror Froggie was like, "You can't read reviews. They're all liars." And I was questioning why people would take the time to lie about a small St. Louis steakhouse, but whatever. He then said it was because the restaurant was in disrepair and needed new plumbing, but that's why they could sell such amazing steak at reasonable prices.

Theories are less logical in the Mirror Universe. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anxious Guy got off his phone call and cursed into the void. He missed his other appointment. He interjected with, "Is that Sam's place expensive?" And that sent Mirror Froggie into a long diatribe about the price of meat at different places and his annoyance at steak-related inflation. Soon after, Anxious Guy finally got in to see the doctor. Old Guy was keeping Mirror Froggie busy with conversation, so I just closed my eyes and rested as they discussed the price of oversized shrimp "as big as your fist". I guess they ran out of things to say about steak.

As they were talking I started to get a spidey-sense about Mirror Froggie.

He *needed* conversation.

He *needed* distraction.

His boredom abhors a vacuum.

Whenever there was a lull or silent moment, I could see him getting very antsy. And if Old Guy got called in before Mirror Froggie... I was going to have a problem.

I was feeling sicker by the moment and did not have the bandwidth to help some stranger with his inability to accept boredom.

And... Old Guy was next.

Because, of course he was.

I feel like sitting there with my eyes closed and also not having said a word the entire time was a pretty decent social cue that I was not interested in talking. But Mirror Me decided to poke that notion with a stick in order to find a way in.

He speaks barely above a whisper, "I wish I could sleep in a public waiting room. Not sure how you do that."

"Yeah, I'm not feeling well. Nothing contagious, just very tired."

"Well, if you're sick, I guess you're in the right place, am I right? *long pause* Cuz we're next to a hospital. *short pause* Right?"

Oh great, he's a joke explainer.

Mirror Froggie did not care about my desire to sit in peace while I waited. His foot was anxiously a-tappin' and he was vibrating with energy that needed someplace to go. He tried standing up and walking in circles. And I guess because my eyes were shut he decided to narrate his walking and stretching to keep me informed. That satisfied him for roughly 20 seconds. He sat back down and was clearly struggling to be alone with his own thoughts.

"Hey, friend."

I open my eyes slowly.

"Do you see that magazine next to you? Would you mind handing that to me?"

I thought, "This is good. He's seeking out an alternate source of stimulation. He can read the magazine and I can rest until my turn."

Seriously, brain... where is this optimism coming from? I've been a cynical misanthrope for like 4 years now.

He flips through a few pages. "Look at this. It's got Oprah on the cover. It's got to be good, right? They don't put Oprah on the cover unless it is good, ya know? Though she doesn't look right after losing all that weight. You know what I mean, friend?"

Well, shit.

I didn't give him a distraction, I gave him a conversation starter. Still, I kept my eyes closed in the hopes he would give up.

"Hey, friend."

Crap.

"You want to hear a joke?"

I open my eyes. I'm not getting out of this.

"Sure." as unenthusiastically as I can manage.

He proceeds to tell three jokes all strung together. All of them terrible and none of them coherent enough for me to remember. I gave him complimentary singular chuckles even though two of the punchlines didn't make sense. I think one was about accidentally eating cat food.

"Hey, friend... how'd you like my jokes?"

I jokingly replied back, "Well, you said *a* joke and that was *three* jokes. That wasn't what I agreed to."

He chuckles and I close my eyes again.

"Hey, friend."

Jesus Christ, would someone jingle their keys for this dude?

"Do you want to hear a 'locker room' joke?"

Oh fuck me.

"I... guess?"

There was no way out of this aside from unpleasant confrontation and my energy calculation of that was much higher than just suffering through a dirty joke.

Here it is, as best as I can remember...

"So there is a pirate ship. And the captain has a beautiful daughter who has come aboard. He tells her that the crew hasn't seen a woman in a long time and they aren't safe to be around, so she should keep a razor blade 'down there.' After the voyage he assembles all of his men and instructs them to pull down their pants. Every one of them has had their dick cut off... except for one. The captain goes up to the only one with their dick intact and says, 'Thank you for not deflowering my only daughter. You should be commended for your restraint. And as a reward, I will make you my first mate.'"

I literally cannot type the punchline because it was an unintelligible noise. Basically, Mirror Froggie imitated someone without a tongue trying to speak.

Yeah. That happened.

I could not hide my disdain for this joke and I was feeling too awful to muster up any kind of response. He seemed confused by the absence of laughter from his wonderful rapey body mutilation joke.

"You get it, friend? He lost his tongue because he ate her pussy."

Yes, explaining the joke always helps... friend.

In whatever the opposite of the nick of time is, moments after this stranger said "ate her pussy"... the nurse calls Mirror Froggie in for his appointment.

I would feel relieved, but the Mounjaro side effects were getting worse and the urge to lose the remaining nutritional value from last night's dinner was increasing by the moment. I was next in line, so I was hoping Mirror Froggie didn't take up too much of the doctor's time with horrible "locker room" jokes and dubious steakhouse suggestions.

Roughly 5 minutes later the nurse calls me in to get my vitals. She weighs me and I am down another 3 pounds. That reminded me of why I was suffering this tummy tantrum. My blood pressure was perfect but my pulse was quite high. I was very anxious holding in my stomach contents and I tried to explain, but she asked me to try and relax to lower my heart rate. We compromised when I got it down to 107.

The nurse keeps forgetting that I don't really have a family anymore. And I know she has a lot of patients in and out and they probably all blend together. But she always ends up asking me questions that require me to remind her my parents are dead.

"Did your mom put up the Christmas tree yet?"

I went with, "No tree this year. Too much work."

"Aw, that's too bad. I actually got mine up early this year. You gotta put up a tree for Christmas."

Thankfully her job was done at this point and she abruptly ended the conversation.

Next up, the pee guy.

He has never actually told me what his name is so that is just what I call him in my head.

Every month I have to sacrifice my urine to the gods of Medicare so they know I am taking my meds and not selling them on the mean streets of Spanish Lake. And the pee guy always comes in to collect my sample. The little cup is kept in a white paper bag for discretion. He used to just give you a clear ziplock, and that was a little embarrassing, as everyone in the waiting room could see your pee. I definitely prefer the new white paper bag system.

It could be my lunch or some cookies or a bunch of peanuts.

Who is to know?

The pee guy is a bit of a talker as well. But the nice thing about his conversational style is that you can't get in a word edgewise. If he asks you a question, he'll even answer it for you. This requires very little effort on my part.

"Hey there, Mr. Benjermin!"

(I have noticed Ben-jer-min is a common pronunciation among Black folks in the area. Not sure if that is just a St. Louis thing or not. Perhaps I have a dialectologist follower who knows.)

I wave hello.

"How's it going, Mr. Benjermin!? Good? Good. Just gotta get your sample. Still taking the same meds? (I nod yes.) Okay, just need you to sign here. New Year's is coming up. Gotta be careful not to party too hard. You'll be regretting that. Though you don't look like a drinker to me. (I nod no.) Yeah, you're a good one. You keep it clean. Okay then, Mr. Benjermin. You're all set. Here is your new sample cup for next time."

He replaces my white paper bag with a new white paper bag and leaves the room without me saying a word. And I'm just realizing he asks me if I am a drinker quite a lot. He must sense my teetotaler spirit or something because he always assumes (correctly) that I don't drink. He's just really concerned about me partying too hard.

Finally the doctor comes in.

My doctor is kind, compassionate, and competent. The almost 3 Cs. But he's got a touch of what I call "Boomer-itis." He's on the progressive side of most things but there are a few ingrained sensibilities from that generation he didn't escape. It's mostly harmless. Though he said something sexist in front of a nurse practitioner student during my last visit that made her roll her eyes behind him.

He greets me and I tell him I'm not feeling well from the Mounjaro and that I am still recovering from my trip to Florida. He tells me that a lot of people can get sick for days from these new drugs, so getting sick for an hour or two isn't so bad. I agree, though I really wish I had not gotten sick at the exact time of this appointment. I keep eyeballing the trash can in the corner just in case things go sideways in my tummy.

He asks about my trip to Florida and I predicted that—as I already had photos ready to go on my phone. I scroll through them, showing off amazing cityscapes and mountainous clouds and an orange sunset over a lake—hoping to impress him with my photography skills to no avail. And then he sees Katrina. Now, I am not blind to her attractiveness, but I do sometimes forget how people respond when they see her next to me.

"Oh, wow. She's beautiful!" he exclaims.

I almost felt flattered on her behalf. But then his Boomer-itis starts to kick in. And he repeats, "Yeah, she's *really* beautiful. Just a friend, you said?" His facial expression and tone of voice are like, "You poor thing, you have been friendzone'd." And probably a touch of, "She's out of your league, buddy." I don't know exactly how to describe it, but it is this familiar look of pity and worry. This is usually followed up with a probing question trying to figure out what our "deal" is. Why is it so odd to that generation that a man and woman can earnestly be just friends and perfectly content with that arrangement?

It would be the easiest thing in the world to just say, "She's gay" and that she isn't "out of my league" as she plays an entirely different sport. (Competitive Subaru Ownership?) But my friendship with Katrina is not some consolation prize due to her queerness. I shouldn't have to explain or justify why I'm "just friends" or why I'm not "being led on."

In a worried tone, "So, umm, how'd you two meet?"

There it is.

"She is an artist. I posted some of her work on my website and it was very popular and helped people find her work. She messaged me to say thank you and we were instant friends. 10 years later she's my best friend and very much like family."

Thankfully his pity face evaporated and he finally saw how long-lasting and meaningful this friendship was. But it is a weirdly common obstacle I have noticed whenever people see a fat guy has a conventionally attractive friend.

Friends are great. Friends have been more supportive and beneficial to me than any romantic entanglement I've ever had.

All of my friends are hot and queer and that's awesome.

Note to self: Put that on a t-shirt.

Knowing how difficult it was, he congratulated me on surviving the trip and we wrapped up our appointment quickly. All I have left to do is check in with his assistant, get my prescriptions sent in, and make my next appointment. I can see the finish line, but my tummy is rumbling and I am making contingency plans for the Great Upchuck of 2023™. I'm clocking trashcans with plastic liners. I'm trying to remember where the nearest restroom is. And then I look down at the little white paper bag containing my urine sample cup and think, "Last resort."

Trinica (the competence ninja and my favorite person in the office) is processing my meds and searching the calendar for next month's visit. Shelly is keeping quiet and working on her computer. I start pacing back and forth. I'm not sure what I think that will do, but I think desperation is taking over at this point.

Shelly sees me and asks, "How's that whole disability situation going for you?" She is acting like my best friend now after cursing at me on the phone. I have a feeling she had an unpleasant conversation with my doctor after that episode because she isn't this sweet and nice to anyone.

I give her the update, "Everything is submitted. My lawyer is happy with all of the records we were able to find. It's just a waiting game now. It could be a couple of months but if I have to see a judge it could be over a year."

She commiserates with me about how slow the process can be.

Then, out of fucking nowhere, Mirror Froggie reappears in the little sliding reception window like a jumpscare in a horror movie.

Are you fucking kidding me with this guy?

"Hey Trinica, do you have a business card for the doctor? I want to recommend him to Doug."

Who the fuck is Doug? Are we supposed to know Doug? Is Doug the tongueless pussy-eating pirate who needs medical attention?

Trinica looks in her desk and is unable to find a spare card. So she stops processing my stuff and starts hunting around the office. She has a bad leg so she is slowly limping while searching every desk. I have never wanted to strangle anyone before, but my doppeldouche was really pushing his luck.

At this point I am just staring at the little trash can in the blood-draw room. I can feel the scrambled eggs reversing course through my digestive system.

Trinica finds a fucking card for fucking Doug and fucking Mirror Froggie finally fucks off to bother people that are not me.

Trinica gets me all sorted, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and make to the car.

I sit in the driver's seat, and with that unearned optimism, say to myself, "I made it."

For all of you who are squeamish about bodily fluids, you can just pretend this is where the story ends. Everything was fine. I made it home and was happy and comfortable and nothing gross happened. The nausea faded away and I lived happily ever after.

The End.

Thank you for reading this and have a lovely day.

Just scroll on by to the next post!

.

.

.

Okay, so you all probably thought I was foreshadowing a monumental barf.

But foreshadowing is typically subtle. You don't want to give away the ending. Of course this was going to end in barf. The barfing was inevitable. The barf was not what I was *actually* foreshadowing at all.

Did anyone catch what it was?

You know that discrete white paper bag?

The one that could be for peanuts or maybe a sammich and definitely not my urine sample cup?

The last resort?

Look, it's all I had.

I was not going to make it home. I was not going to make it back into the bathroom. No trash bins on the horizon. Nothing in my car.

At first it was just an itty bitty baby barf. A perfect amount to be contained in a flimsy paper bag. I felt a relief wash over me.

"That's all?" still being stupidly optimistic.

But then I made that noise.

That... pre-retch noise.

That one where your head kinda juts forward and your lips make a giant O shape and you make a very specific grunting sound. That sound where if another person hears it, they involuntarily make the same specific grunting sound.

This was when I had one of those movie moments when a character knows they are about to die and they can't do anything about it. And I made this exact face as I waited for the impending doom of a vomitous explosion.

The Great Upchuck of 2023™ commenced.

And it was... intense.

Everything inside my stomach transferred rapidly, furiously, projectile-ly into the bag of foreshadowing.

I mean, I'm pretty much convinced my stomach is a TARDIS because I do not remember ingesting that much food. This sheer volume of barf had to be coming from another dimensional plane.

I could see it staining the sides of the bag as it was clearly not meant for this. When I finished it was barely intact—soggy, if you will. When I was absolutely sure I had ralph'd to completion, my only option was to gently place it on the passenger's side floor (sans floor mats). All I needed was for it to last 5 more minutes on the trip home and then I could dispose of it and pretend this never happened.

Physically I felt such a relief. Sometimes there is this post-puke euphoria where you just feel, well... lighter. Unburdened with no longer having that feeling. Happy it is over with.

I place the key in the ignition and head for home. As I'm driving I can't help but stare at the bag. I can see it mocking me as it changes colors. The exterior was getting... damp. If this were someone else's vomit, I would have been vomiting because of it. Just... so gross.

I get home and park the car. I walk around to the passenger side to begin the extraction process. I pull the trash can close and I have to psych myself up to deal with this horrible hurling happenstance.

And this next part, well... it would be hilarious if it weren't so damned disgusting.

I stare at the bag.

The bag stares back at me.

I take a deep breath and approach the bag.

The bag grins at me.

I gingerly grasp the very tippy-top in an effort to not touch any of the offending material.

I slowly lift up the bag.

And the very instant it reaches just enough height to do the most damage...

The bottom falls out.

If the bag had broken just as I was picking it up, the carnage would have been minimal. Only a small area to clean up. But clearly this bag read the Wikipedia page on air burst nuclear weapons. It knew you get a much more devastating blast radius if you detonate from an elevated position.

A TARDIS worth of partially digested scrambled eggs just pour and splatter and spray onto the floor of my car. It looked like the bag was puking out my puke.

The bag is now dead but I can feel its ghost laughing at me.

I stand there frozen holding the top of this evil deceased white paper bag trying and failing to process what just happened.

I realize I have no idea what to do with this situation. This is something that would usually be followed with, "MOoooOOOoooommmmm! How do I clean up vomit?"

And she would say, "You'll never do it right. I'll clean it up."

And I'd pretend to be like, "Oh no, it's my mess. I could never let you do that for me."

And she'd insist and break out her endless supply of very specific cleaning potions and magics and soon it would be as if the vomit didn't even exist.

So, I guess my question is... do I have to get my car detailed now?

The Actual End.

[x0ana]

[overwatch]

I never really understood eating disorders. I thought skinny people could just *eat*.

When I was hospitalized in Decemember I went 2 months without eating. Had to get those fun feeding tubes on my neck (jk, I had to get them re-done 3 times and it was one of the worst experiences in the whole finding out I had cancer business).

After I got the whipple surgery I had to re-learn how to eat. And even then, my body would just throw up everything. It was so painful to vomit, but my body always felt relieved of not having to eat.

I am glad to say that right now, not only am I eating again, but I am eating lots! And I love food again! But it was so hard to get here.

Anyway, the point of my post is that I wanted to share what helped me overcome my ED:

Dungeon Meshi / Delicious in Dungeon

I remember forcing myself to watch it and getting slightly nauseoted by the sight of food, even in anime, on the first episode. But I kept on watching and the way Laios and Senshi love food/cooking made me value and admire food again. I think by episode 2 I missed being able to cook myself.

2. Tzuyang

I am going to be honest, I was also ignorant about Mukbang. I thought it was just people forcing themselves to eat large quantities under a timer (there was a famous white youtuber who wasn't very healthy and was doing this for views, which was, regrettably, my introduction to the concept).

After many 'not interested' clicks on tiktoks about food content, somehow the Al Gore Rythm suggested Tzuyang. She's a very sweet person who genuinely loves food and eats because she loves to (so not forcing herself to eat large quantities).

So many times I found myself watching her eat to 'get' hungry and it worked. Even now, on my chemo days when I am not very hungry, I usually play her videos and it helps a ton.

So idk I hope these recommendations can help someone else going through something similar too!

[idiot-mushroom]

was going through it last week

[lilablumenn]

Hi everyone, I need help.

I really need to purge. The problem is, I have been afraid of vomiting since I was a child. Can someone tell me how to start and what is the best way to do it? how long should I wait after eating, etc. I would be really grateful if someone could help me with this. I am able to do this because I know it will help me in this difficult time, I just need some guidance.

Sorry for my English, I'm not really good at it.

[edible-tobacco237]

How long have you been pvrg1ng? How often?

How as your first time doing it? Do you remember it? What triggered you to begin with it?

Who else knows about your habit?

I've been pvrg1ng for 2 years now, at first it was 2/3 a week, but as I went on the frequency increased, like now I purg3 every other day. Usually purges are due to binging, or wanting to see a flat stomach.

What triggered was myself, the environment i was into, like family whit all the amout of food they made me EAT,and a little love story ended drastically. I was convinced that if I starved myself and punished my binges with vomiting, I would be fine in the future and lose my pounds.

I'm still convinced

I remember the first time doing it very well, I was at school, disgustingly exciting

I hate talking about my mia to people I know. Currently only psychologist and my father know

I hope this was helpful, or helpfully useless. stay safe

[redvelvetwishtree]

TW Rape, Sodomy, Torture.

TW Israel but no trigger warning for israel supporters who conveniently ignore evidence

[skelespidey]

this picture actually triggered me so hard i physically gagged when i saw it because man i wanna spit out all the food i have ever eaten oh my god her thighs are so small mee me me wnen pleade :c

tw 4 thinspo under the cut

[b1zmuth]

The Mishaps of SITE:DD | Obey Me! x Reader

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

[File 2] \\ 5K words

SC \\ Monsters, gore, the SCP foundation, you date everyone ig… slight angst but with a happy ending, fluff, sci-fi, experimenting, mentioned suicide, everyone is a little off their rocker, you are NOT innocent!! I'll add more tags later..

TL;DR - Think the SCP Foundation, but you are the researcher who unfortunately gets assigned to Seven Keter classified objects. 

EXTREME TW's : graphic depictions of vomiting and death smelling objects + small suicide mentioning // be extremely wary of this when reading! thanks!

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

Open FILE.[FOLDER_2]? > Please select one option. (Yes/Yes) . . . FILE.[FOLDER_2] Opening.. Please wait.

Oh, brother.

Now you were seriously in for it.

Just imagine; you decided to take a risky gamble on some paperwork that you didn't read thoroughly- ended up signing some… papers, that ended up with you viciously hurling the contents of your lunch right back up your windpipe and into the toilet.

Seriously! You were so screwed- unbelievably at that.

Due to your risky signage of those papers, you accidentally signed off on volunteering with a partner for ‘’SCP EXPERIMENTATIONS’’, which translated to ‘’Oh yeah btw we don't have enough on-fielders to sacrifice so heres a volunteering sheet with 4x the pay if you sign up and you have zero guarantee of not being assigned to a keter class so if you sign off on this your kinda fucked ngl lmao’’

And there goes another chunk of your overpriced egg and cheese sandwich.

‘’You are expendable.’’

‘’Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! I should have never took- that f-FUCKING risk, of course, Jesus Christ himself damns me to an early d-death by being slaughtered by a SCP. just fantastic! I should start writing a will- yes, yes! Write a will… but to who? I don't have any family… oh fuck me! Everything seems to get worse by the second in this hellhole!’’ You practically whisper-shouted at yourself, causing anyone who happened to pass by the private bathroom to start questioning your mental sanity- your hot tears and snot dripping down your face and dropping into the toilet, causing your somewhat visible reflection to ripple in the murky water- the ringing in your ears seeming to increase in volume with every shaky breath you managed to suck in.

“If only you didn’t take that risk. You know, this is all your fault.’’

You looked at your messy reflection, watching your own reflection slowly ripple into an undistinguishable mess of swirls and blobs of food- the pungent smell filling your nostrils and causing you to gag and quickly back up away from the toilet, a cold sweat rushing all over your body. ‘’Maybe you're right. It is my fault.’’ you let the tears fall once more, not even attempting to wipe your face for some type of decency if someone were to walk in.

‘’This is my penance for what I’ve done.’’ ‘’This is your penance for what you’ve done.’’

. . . Everything is getting brighter- so bright. Is this real life? . .

The door to the bathroom opens and quickly shuts- a mess of a purple and peachy-colored blob rushes in and kneels in front of you- waving a tanned…something, that you couldn’t even make out somewhere near your face- the ringing in your ears masking the already muffled voice of the purple blob- ‘’MC? God, it reeks in here- are you okay?’’

What did that walking grape say to you? This damn ringing almost wouldn't even allow the reverberated sounds of your heavy breathing to make it to your ears- you can forget about it if anyone said anything outside of your ear-’’MC! Shit- we might have to get a medic- SOLOMOOON! COME QUICK!’’

While the purple-colored grape desperately used any method to get you responsive, your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, as if you were trying to speak, but nothing audible would come out, much to your frustration, the blob still didn't catch your goldfish movements even with the way you were tugging and pulling borderline anything to catch its attention- the light was getting brighter, and your vision was starting to turn red..you guessed you wouldn’t have long before…whatever this was put you out of your misery- so in a last-ditch effort, you put all your energy into screaming your final words.

‘’TELL THIRTEEN THAT I ENTRUST EVERYTHING TO HER!’’ . . . Wow. Well, at least your figurines wouldn’t end up in a Goodwill somewhere in Timbuktu.

And that was the last thing you said, or well, what YOU remember saying before you promptly blacked out and fully embraced your incoming divine judgment and thirty-minute express Uber to the deepest pits of Hell.

The only setback to this heavenly gift was that you woke up in one of the facility med bays, the blinding white light fooling you into thinking that one of the angels in heaven accidentally ordered the wrong Uber and sent you to the wrong place, until you rubbed your eyes and noticed that you were, in fact, not in heaven- but in the one place you had been begging Jesus to take the wheel and lead you directly out of this shithole.

You groaned at the sight, nearly tearing up at the notion that you had just passed out, and didn’t suddenly keel over and die in Thirteen’s bathroom. Fuck!

Mentally cursing at the higher being that stopped you from leaving your misery, you swung yourself out of bed and made a straight B-line for the nearest exit- ‘’Uh, excuse me?! Your supposed to be in bed and resting!’’ you heard a shrill and child-like voice speak from behind you, making you turn around in surprise to reveal a blonde-haired boy with blue eyes dressed in a regular doctoral outfit- and wait just a second, now that you look at him… that's a not a boy but a whole ass KID?? My god and you thought this place was bad enough- this was just downright wrong, alongside the numerous violations of public safety and multiple HIPPA violations, having child labor added to the tall order of lawsuits would NOT look so pretty on paper- maybe it really was time to start looking for a casket..

‘’Cmon! Back to bed!’’ The blonde ordered, watching you sluggishly walk back to your bed and settle in before you turned your head and stared at him for a solid 30 seconds before he finally got uncomfortable and spoke up again- ‘’Dah! Quit staring at me! If you're really that bothered by my appearance, I'm actually thousands of years older than you!’’ he looked at you with an annoyed look and pulled up a chair next to your bed.

‘’Okay, so what I'm hearing here is that you look like a whole child, and act like one too- but supposedly you are thousands of years old…yeahhh, I don't buy it.’’ You shook your head at the kid, watching how he looked at you with utter disbelief and shock, his body lurching forward- ‘’I- You do work here, or did the impact from your head hitting the bottom of Miss Thirteen’s bathroom floor scramble your brain THAT bad?’’ the boy smirked at you before he triumphantly sat back in his seat- totally oblivious to the seething person in front of him.

You weren't going to argue with this kid anymore- the blinding whites of this room were going to drive you insane if you didn't make a hasty dash to the nearest exit within the next MINUTE.

‘’Anyways, let's go back to square one- my name is Luke, I'm an angel that was recruited by the foundation to heal injured workers!’’ He flashed you a bright smile before he got a small pack of sweets out of his pocket and handed them to you- ‘’These are medicated sweets, they’ll help ease any pain your blackout may cause later on, I highly recommend that you take one now that your fully awake.’’ you nodded your head and thanked him for the sweets, popping a wing-shaped cookie into your mouth- feeling the sugary taste of the cookie practically melt inside of your mouth, surprisingly, with no hint of medication in it- ‘’..so, Luke, how long have I been out?’’

‘’About a day, Simeon was looking after you for most of it.’’ Luke responded, tilting his head to the side as he shot a nervous smile at your terrified face- ‘’I’ll bring you a cold towel..’’ . . . . . ‘’And then I assume you blacked out…again, which led up to now- when you're finally awake… Should I buy you some nausea medicine?’’ A worried Thirteen asked you, starting to rise out of the chair Luke was previously sitting in before you passed out for the second time- ‘’Y’know, being an On-Fielder isn't as bad as your making it out to be- just look at me and Solomon for example, yes, he is a complete and utter dumbass…BUT! He wouldn’t hurt me even if i tore him limb from limb.’’ She said, giving you a gentle smile as she held your hand in hers- to which you just shook your head at the gesture.

You gave her a small giggle- ‘’The way you looked like you fought a fully grown bear two weeks ago would say otherwise- and you say he wouldn’t hurt you.’’

‘’You're not getting the point here, MC! Im saying that there's no guaranteed chance that you’ll end up with a shitty anomaly-’’ you cut off Thirteen, ‘’But there's a possibility, right? As if! I've lived the past six years, somewhat, unscathed! I’d rather not be turned into a smear on the wall by some random beedogcat hybrid thing!’’ you lurched forward and told Thirteen, who just responded with a loud sigh- ‘’You practically stressing yourself half to death worrying about getting an anomaly that could quite literally just be Safe or Elucid!’’ She shook her head and gestured towards Luke, who was floating towards the both of you with a certain look on his face.

‘’MC- Simeon just dropped off this package for you, he says HR wants a confirmation soon..’’ he looked worried as he handed the yellow package to you, running off towards the office of the med-bay to, presumably, fetch you some more medicine for your upcoming blackout.

You now held the package in your hands, gingerly running the tips of your fingers alongside the edges of it, before you shot a desperate look at Thirteen- ‘’Im gonna be so pissed if you did allat yapping in my ear just for me to be assigned a Keter class.’’ you said before you opened the package and read the contents.

SCP EXPERIMENTATION | RESULTS . . . Thank you for volunteering for [SCP EXPERIMENTATION], MC, [REDACTED]

We value your humble contribution towards a new dawn with the substitution of a looming threat to humanity as a whole, and the contribution towards further research into the nature and behaviors of SCPs.

After careful consideration and sorting of MC, [REDACTED]’s personal file, your results have culminated to bring out your full potential as an [EXPERIENCED] On-Field Researcher, and your SCP’s full potential as an addition.

Your SCP’s details are listed below.

Item #: SCP-6667 Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6667 is highly dangerous and any movement and/or action needs to be exercised with extreme caution due to its ██████████████, ███████-███████, ███ ████ ██….…

We sincerely hope that you and your newfound SCP further our push for research and safety with SCPs, and with your considerable predicted efforts, your pay will follow suit. Please be ready to meet your newfound subject(s) at a.m. 0300 hours from the moment you receive your package. - Matt, from HR.

* NOTE: The SCP Foundation is not liable for any on-site accidents or injuries via Non-SCP Anomalies. personnel loved ones are required to claim liabilities through a Personal Insurance Firm. (PIF)

It felt like your mouth was stuck agape as you stared at the paper in horror- constantly reading over the same word like it was a religion to you; Keter, Keter, Keter Keter, Keter, Keter, Keter, Keter, Keter. A fucking Keter.

A Keter class. The damn near kill-on-sight class which few researchers ever, and you meant- a few EVER survived. You would have already been pushing your luck if you made it out on the first DAY in one piece- let alone surviving another encounter with that class.

YOU. had been assigned to a Keter.

Starting to hyperventilate you desperately tried to clamor out of your bed- only to find yourself restrained to the bed with brown leather belts. And even as you screamed for Thirteen to help you out, she only stared at you with a blank expression on her face before the corners of her lips slowly curled into a toothless smile- ‘’You are expendable.’’ ..what?

Her body starts to curl on itself- her eyes now becoming soulless and morphing into pits of the void, her smile still being toothless and making you feel uneasy whenever you looked into it- ‘’You are a disgusting human being.’’ you heard her talk to you…but her mouth never seemed to move? You were suddenly startled by her neck stretching inhumanely long, long enough to the point where her nose started brushing up against your own, her mouth that was too close for comfort permeating the gut-wrenching stench and displeasure of death, that same smell that you swore you had gotten used to.

“If only you didn’t take that risk. You know, this is all your fault.’’ Her mouth stretched open, the stench getting worse and worse until you started dry heaving due to it- your eyes betraying your mind and the rest of your body as it gazed into the inhumanly stretched mouth of the former friend you called ‘’Thirteen’’, and you screamed as you finally saw what laid inside of its throat- a pale hand, which adorned yellow painted nails, emerged from the back of its throat desperately trying to claw its way towards you- ‘’No. No. no-NO! This isn't real- THIS ISNT FUCKING REAL!’’ you screamed now trying any possible way to get out of your restraints, thrashing back and forth to wiggle your way out, sweat now adorning your body like a heavy winter coat, your hair stuck to your face while your eyes stayed glued on the thing that you once called your friend- your breathing getting harder and harder as you took in more of the putrid smell of death-

And then it all stopped.

Thirteen was gone. The smell was gone. That voice was gone.

You lay in a white room filled with a multitude of different shaped and colored flowers, a gentle breeze flowing through the room blew in your favorite scent, and your ragged breathing slowed down with every deep breath you took.

It felt calming. Like you could finally breathe fresh air for the first time.

Your shrunk pupils darted across every inch of the room, scanning it for any hint of danger before you realized that you could feel something on top of your eyelids since whatever it was slightly twitched every time you blinked- you slowly raised your hands towards your eyes, softly landing them on something..warm? It felt like a hand, but who’s hand? Are you dreaming?

‘’Come find me, MC. Save Me.’’ You felt drowsy listening to the voice, but it wasn’t like the voice from earlier- it felt more calm, less sinister…who really was this talking to you? It had to be thirteen..or that guy Luke was talking about….it..couldn’t..be any- anyone….else?

Your thoughts dragged out as you felt your muscles twitch and shake, your mind slowly shutting down- before you woke up in a cold sweat.

You now found yourself back in the Med-Bay, still sitting in this damned bed, but now you were accompanied by a gorgeous dark-skinned male with beautiful brown fringed hair which was parted on the sides of his head due to his…head wings? Is he deaf? Nevermind… He sat in the same chair that Thirteen did, his head was tilted downwards toward a clipboard which had something that you couldn’t discern written on it.

He seemed to notice your presence as he looked up from his clipboard, setting it aside on the nearby nightstand as he brushed himself off- ‘’Welcome back, MC! I assume that Luke has told you about me, no?’’ you nodded your head. ‘’That's great, do you happen to feel any discomfort or dizziness? Any worrying feelings?’’ you shook your head no- ‘’I'm happy to hear you feel fine, especially after what just happened- here, I'm giving you some fludrocortisone acetate to help with your fainting.’’ He said in a cheerful tone, smiling at you again after handing you a glass of water.

You were parched. Your mouth damn near felt like a desert with how dry it felt, so this glass of water was a blessing in disguise for you, thank god for Simeon- ‘’Don't fret too much about your meeting, you have an hour to properly rest and get yourself into a better headspace- I’ll be right here at your side if you need someone to talk to as well.’’ he said, getting up from the chair to walk over towards the nearby bookshelf. well, at least you had an hour to recollect your thoughts and mentally prepare yourself for what could be very well the last moments of your life, ‘’what a pain it's going to be loading my tomato soup-looking ass into a coffin.’’ you slightly snickered at your joke before you rolled over and your mind wandered off elsewhere, your eyes subconsciously drifting over towards the now sitting Simeon, who was quietly reading a book beside your bed.

‘’Simeon.’’ He looks over towards you, his eyebrows raised- ‘’Would it be rude to ask if you and Luke are…y’know, non-human?’’ you asked, expecting him to go ballistic on you for asking such a question- I mean, it did happen to you once before when asking an angel that Thirteen was watching over- guy got SUPER pissed that you didn’t just use common sense and look at the winds that were hidden on his back (which were covered by his long hair), god, that guy was a fucking dick now that you think back on it.

Simeon only smiled as the wings on either side of his head flapped happily- ‘’It's not rude to ask a question that has a clear answer, Luke has wings as I do but he is just too young for his wings to be fully visible!’’ you smiled back at him, happy that he wasn’t being as much of a dick like the last angel you asked this question to- ‘’How come you dont have a halo then?’’ ‘’It's too much of a problem to have floating on the back of my head, I tried to make it work but alas it ended up getting stuck trying to get through a door..’’ he shook his head whilst lowly chuckling to himself, ‘’Anyways, I'd love to keep on talking with you but I think we’re out of time here- but please don't start worrying! I specifically put in a medical request for Thirteen to accompany you during your time with your SCP…or well, Thirteen practically begged me to do something to aid with your panic attacks.’’

Your heart dropped hearing him say anything that hinted towards your looming death, but you just sucked it up since you would be with Thirteen- someone who could write out your will and put all of your figurines to good use. Simeon waved you off and shouted something along the lines of ‘’letting Luke know that you are bidding farewell!’’ with you shouting a happy ‘’See you later!’’ back at him.

The walk of shame towards the meeting room was absurd.

Totally absurd because there were people literally prancing around the main floor with whole-ass deers, frolicking around with bees, and JUMPING for joy at their newfound SCPs. The fuck?! Are you just the mayor of Frown Town or are these people actually on some type of hardcore drug? Because there is no possible way that the foundation didn't give all of these people Safe class SCPs- if they were going to do this then how come you didn't get something that wouldn’t kill me on sight?

‘’Your results have culminated to bring out your full potential as an [EXPERIENCED] On-Field Researcher’’ Right. They looked through your file to personally assign you a specific SCP.

Well, despite this unnerving fact, you pushed forward, determined to at least get a glimpse of your personal grim reaper, this fact pushed you forward with some pep in your step until you pushed open the doors to the meeting room- Matt. goddamn Matt.

Of COURSE they decided to let Matt be the tour guide for this whole shitshow- the one person you wanted to stay away from you at all times was HERE and going to be walking around with you for a solid five minutes to your new laboratory- Jesus fuck! Was the foundation that determined to get you to kill yourself?? ‘’MC! Oh, it is so, so, great to see my new favorite employee looking so delighted about their new job promotion! Come! Let's turn this frown upside down!’’ Matt said with a disgustingly cheery tone, his annoying ass smile seemed to get brighter as your frown drooped even more as he grabbed your hand and guided you towards your gravestone- I'm sure you will looooooove your new SCP! He is very docile and kind-hearted, his only setback is that he sleeps a ton, so getting research out of him will SURELY be a hassle!’’ he let go of your hand and twirled a bit before grabbing your hand, again, and further leading you to the airlocked door of your new laboratory.

Okay, now you were convinced that everyone was on this newfound hardcore drug and that you were the only sane fucker in the facility- because what fucking Keter class is DOCILE and KIND-HEARTED? Either Matt is a complete and utter dumbass who is totally oblivious to the most important aspect of his job or he genuinely didn’t know about the class you were assigned to.

Matt opened the door for you, ushering you inside as he explained the password system to your lab, giving you the code on a sticky note, and walking over to a panel that had several buttons on it as he flicked on a button which turned on the lights in the ‘’research station’’ as he calls it before he beckoned you over to him- ‘’And now for the grand reveal..! I, Matt, will be giving MC the honor of revealing their SCP!’’ he squealed, looking at you with a ‘’Hurry up and push that button’’ look as you just sighed and flicked on the switch next to the one he already turned on- with the lights slowly turning on to reveal a… Cow? No, human-cow cosplaying human curled up in the corner? What??

‘’Okay Matt, I'm going to be straight with you- what in the actual fuck is this? This isn't an SCP, it's some random guy cosplaying a cow that you plucked out of an anime convention!’’ You looked at Matt with a dumbfounded look as you looked back at the sleeping cow-cosplaying man before looking back at Matt- ‘’Oh yes it is, MC, that is in fact not a human but an SCP, he’s just assuming a human-like form to fool the task force into thinking he is docile. Not saying that he is violent, he just seems to not like his sleeping to be disturbed.’’ did Matt think you were that stupid? ‘’Matt, what the actual fuck are you talking about? ‘’Oh YeAh, He’S DoCiLe!’’ THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS ASSUMING A FORM TO FOOL PEOPLE INTO COMING INTO HIS ENCLOSURE! No, and I mean NO docile ANYTHING assumes a form to lure people into its habitat! How the hell can you actually look me in my face and tell me that it's DOCILE?!’’ you angrily pointed towards the still sleeping cowman

Matt's tone darkened, ‘’Let's not forget our positions here, or do you really want a black mark that badly? Either way, you have a job to do- valuable research to provide to the Foundation, i highly suggest you start moving to assess the SCP’s danger level- now, please. He told you, handing you a briefing file that you didn’t even know he had with him- your eyes quickly scanning over the material of said file, landing on one specific word before you looked up and stared into the soul of poor Matt.

It's like the fucker wanted you eliminated and wiped off of the face of the earth at his earliest convenience! This was downright ridiculous- get into the enclosure WITH a demon Keter class? Are you serious? fuuuuuck that.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance, ‘’Oh godfuckingdammit! Give me a break! A COW! A COW!! A DEMON COW AT THAT! You’ve got to be joking- seriously! If I walk in that THING’s enclosure I'm going to be not pushing 26 but fuckin’ DAISIES! Matt, I don't think you understand the problem here, You're putting me in the same room as a KETER- do you want me dead that bad?’’

Matt shook his head- ‘’Get in the enclosure, the black mark doesn't argue back nor does the rest of HR, after all, they will side with me, once again.’’

‘’Fuck you, Matt.’’ You said whilst angrily punching in the code to the enclosure- cautiously walking into the brightly lit room as you had a one-man staredown with the cow before you softly tapped your foot, attempting to wake it without immediately being torn limb from limb- and somehow you succeeded- having a grumbling, somewhat pissed, cow look at you like you just kicked a puppy and napalmed an orphanage, and kicked someone's grandma down a flight of stairs- god how much you missed the Med-Bay now…

Now that you could get a clear view of your short-time good ol’ buddy and pal- you could see his outfit clearly; somewhat blue hair with white streaks on the tips, a tired look adorning his face, and a blue jacket with a hood that he paired with an olive colored pair of pants, with damn near knee high brown boots- what in the actual fuck was this guy wearing? Damn, where did they FIND this man?

‘’What do you want?’’

What in the fuck- who said that? You thought to yourself, glancing back to an empty lab with no Matt in sight- oh that fucker REALLY wanted you dead. ‘’Fucking Matt…’’

Was it that voice that was nagging you about being a bad person and this that and the third earlier? Maybe it was… him?

‘’Was that you who just said that?’’ you stared at the cow who was lying down on the ground, watching it for any movement in its mouth before you heard the voice again- ‘’Yes, now answer my question already.’’- were you actually going schizophrenic or something? Because you were just staring at his mouth and didn't move one bit when you heard the voice- ‘’The fuck? Are you talking telepathically?’’ you asked the cow, only to get a now angry response- ‘’Are you deaf? Or just willfully being ignorant? Do you have zero sense of danger?’’

That's right, that cow was asking you to answer its question- ‘’I want the same thing as you do, for me to get the fuck outta here. I don't know if you saw that guy back there but he FORCED me to be in here with you.’’ You gestured to the empty room across from the both of you before you noticed something small and pink on the glass window- and you couldn’t get to it due to the walking threat lying down in front of you, especially the fact that any sudden movement could aggravate this guy and send you 6ft under, pushing daisies.

‘’So you're stuck here too, that guy wrote on that paper something about how he locked the doors for bonding time’’ The cow gestured towards the pink paper that was on the window, and then looked back at you.

Without missing a beat, he suddenly appeared in front of you and wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing it with some considerable force since your face slightly twitched at the sudden cutoff of oxygen, and the cow did NOT seem to like that result as he let up with the squeezing- ‘’You really don't have any sense of danger, huh?’’ at this point, you didn’t even try to fight his grip, you just shrugged and accepted your fate- ‘’I do have a sense of danger- I just knew what type of bullshit I would be going into, but y’know, I'm forced to work with you. No point in having a sense of danger if you're just going to die by the end of the business day.’’

He sighed and fully let go of you, walking back to his previous spot in the corner and curling up into a ball, hiding his face from the bright lights of the room- ‘’How boring, it's no fun killing you if you're already wanting to die, that's like im granting your shitty wish. I'm a demon, not a genie.

‘’If you're a demon then go do us both a solid and kill that fucker, Matt!’’ you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes at the thought of his eventual return- ‘’What exactly did this Matt guy do to you for his name to be accompanying some form of death every five fucking seconds in your head?! You need to take anger management classes or something.’’

This fucking sassy fuck- ‘’It's because Matt sat there and LOCKED me in a room with YOU, no offense by the way, all for the purpose of killing me- like what type of psychopath sits there and leaves the glory of watching your greatest enemy be killed in real-time to go frolic around in an imaginary field or whatever he does in his free time! It's borderline stupid!’’

‘’Not only that, the guy keeps on babbling on about how you're so docile and kind-hearted!’’ You finished your rant about Matt, laying down against the cold, hard tiles and staring up into the ceiling- ‘’what a dumbass.’’ ‘’Tell me about it- the guys been doing nothing but riding my ass for the past six years and the moment he got a promotion he starts going on a whole tangent about how he’s so important and that he’ll put a mark on me if I step out of line- fucking power-tripping!’’

‘’And he got this promotion because why?’’

‘’Because he [DATA EXPURGED BY ADMIN_M], [REDACTED].’’

The cow seemed to pause at your words before he uncurled himself and stared at you, much to your dismay- ‘’He… did what to [REDACTED]?’’

‘’Yeah, he did, the only and probably only SCP I will ever trust again. And he [DATA EXPURGED BY ADMIN_M], and I hate his fucking guts for it- I sometimes wonder about her family she used to tell me stories about… I really wanted to meet some of her older brothers if our plan worked.’’

‘’Tell me about these stories [REDACTED] told you, now.’’ ‘’It's not like I have anything better to do.’’ . . . . . . . . . ‘’She really was the light of the foundation, making the suicide rate in this damned place drop to an all-time low! Hell, even the SCPs themselves enjoyed her presence, and that's impressive to get that senile old man down the hallway to shut the fuck up with his happy-go-lucky attitude.’’

Rename FILE.[FOLDER_2]? > Please select one option. (Yes/Yes)

Enter a new name for FILE.[FOLDER_2]. > [Paranoia] . . .

Saving FILE.[PARANOIA].. Please wait..

<<< ''Do you really want to go back?'' || ''Are you sure you want to return?'' >>>

[1heartfanfics]

Hi! Would u be willing to write a John b and Jj sickfic. Where John b gets sick a little while after his add goes missing and is throwing up and has a fever and is just super out of it and ends up breaking down and crying about his dads? Maybe he starts feeling sick at school and dips out of class and Jj follows him and drives him home in the Twinkie when he realizes what’s going on? You can also write it however you want ! :)

They were in the middle of math class when John B suddenly bolted from his chair and darted out of the classroom. Mr. Johnson looked up from the book he was reading at his desk while the class worked on their assignments, but didn't say anything.

He turned to look at Kie, then Pope to see if either of them knew what was up with John B but they both gave him a clueless look and a shrug. He felt his phone buzz after a moment though and pulled it out of his pocket under the desk.

To: Pope, JJ From: Kie Should someone go check on him?

'I got it' JJ quickly sent back. He didn't wait to see their responses before he got up and walked out of the classroom too. Mr. Johnson would probably call the office or something since a second student had walked out of his class, but to be honest JJ didn't really give a fuck.

He glanced down both hallways, trying to decide which way he thought John B would've gone, but then he heard the loud retching coming from the bathroom down the left hall. Shit.

JJ jogged over to the bathroom. "John B? It's JJ," he said as he pushed open the door.

John B answered with a gag and a splash, making JJ wince in sympathy. He took a quick stock of the situation and was relieved to find that they were at least alone in the bathroom. John B was in the first stall on his knees, door cracked open as he obviously hadn't had time to lock it.

"Hey man," JJ said, knocking on the stall door as he pushed it open. John B just groaned. He was slumped over the toilet, head resting on his forearm on top of the seat. His tank top was damp with sweat down his back, but JJ could see him shaking.

JJ crouched down behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. When he received no resistance from the contact, he reached up to feel his friend's forehead, confirming what he already knew; fever.

"John B you with me?" JJ asked.

"Yeah," John B croaked, not lifting his head.

"Good. That's a start. You done in here?" JJ asked.

John B just shrugged slightly.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes. Come on, we gotta get you up off this floor man, this shit's nasty," JJ said, grabbing John B under one arm.

John B didn't say anything, but let JJ manhandle him away from the toilet and into a standing position. He didn't feel very stable, so JJ helped him lean against the side of the stall for support while he reached forward to flush the toilet.

JJ grabbed John B's wrist and pulled his arm around his own shoulders to prop him up, then wrapped his other arm around John B's waist. Together they slowly made their way out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

"JJ please don' make me go back," John B mumbled, head lolling against JJ's shoulder.

"We're not going back dude, I'm taking you home," JJ said, more dragging John B than anything at this point. Thankfully they were able to get out of the side door to the school without anyone stopping them. By the time they made it out to the twinkie, John B was looking pretty green.

"You gonna puke again?" JJ asked as he hauled open the passenger door. John B shook his head but the look on his face was not reassuring.

He managed to get John B into the car, then opened the door to the back to dig around for someone to use as a puke bag. Thankfully, he found a plastic bag that seemed to be hole-free and passed it to John B before heading around to the drivers side.

Normally, John B didn't let him drive the twinkie, but this was an unusual circumstance. John B certainly wasn't in any condition to be driving.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he started the car.

To: JJ From: Kie Everything okay?

'Not exactly. Taking John B home' he typed back. He knew she would have more questions, but he wanted to focus on getting John B home first.

They had barely made it out of the parking lot when John B pitched forward to hurl into the plastic bag. "Shit," JJ muttered under his breath, reaching over to give John B's shoulder a squeeze. He was happy he'd thought to get him a bag or they would've had a mess to deal with later.

"You're alright man, we'll be home soon," JJ said. He was trying to focus on the road, but he spared a glance at his friend and was immediately worried. John B was paperwhite, panting over the bag with his eyes closed.

"Hey, you're not gonna pass out on me are you?" he asked, giving John B's shoulder a careful shake.

"No," John B breathed, easing the panic in JJ's chest a little. Maybe he was a little out of his league here.

Thankfully they made it to the chateau without John B puking again or passing out, which was a relief. JJ parked as close to the house as he could without risking getting stuck in the mud, then got out and walked around to help John B out. As soon as he opened John B's door though, he practically fell out of the car, landing on his knees with a retch.

"Aw jesus JB," JJ muttered, kneeling down next to his friend to rub his back as he puked his guts up again. How did he even have anything left?

"Fuck," John B gasped when he was finally able to catch his breath.

"Let's get you inside dude, think you can walk?" JJ asked, ready to carry him if he needed to. JJ was a lot stronger than he looked.

"Yeah," John B nodded, "Gonna need some help though," he added.

"Yep, I've got you brother," JJ said, looping an arm under John B's to haul him to his feet. As soon as he was upright, John B slumped against JJ's side. "You still with me?" JJ paused to make sure his friend was still conscious.

John B gave a non-committal hum of a response, which wasn't overly reassuring, but it would have to do. JJ more or less dragged John B into the chateau and deposited him as gracefully as possible onto the couch.

"Alright I'm gonna go get some stuff for you. Try not to puke in the next five minutes, okay?" JJ said. John B answered with a groan as JJ headed back out to the front room. He returned a minute later with a trash can and a cup of water.

"Here man, drink some of this," JJ said, sitting down at the edge of the bed.

John B shook his head, rolling over on his side to curl in on himself. He looked so small.

"Look man, I know you don't feel good but you're gonna get dehydrated, you gotta drink some water," JJ tried again.

"I want my dad," John B said quietly.

JJ felt like his heart stopped for a second. Shit. John B hadn't been sick since his dad disappeared, he realized.

"I know buddy," JJ said, reaching out to place a gentle hand on John B's shoulder. They were both quiet for a minute until John B sniffled, breaking the silence. He was crying.

"JJ I'm scared," John B said, tears pouring down his cheeks.

"Aw hey, it's gonna be okay-" JJ started, but was cut off by a sob as John B reached for him. "Okay, alright, I've gotcha," JJ said, wrapping his arms around John B.

And so JJ held his friend, rocking them slowly back and forth as John B sobbed into his shoulder. He vaguely worried that John B might puke on him since he was sick and so worked up, but he decided it didn't really matter. John B needed him. For once JJ wasn't the one needing to be put back together. And after John B had done it so many times for him; taking care of him when he got too drunk or hungover, patching him up when he took a particularly bad beating at home; JJ owed him this, and so much more.

[al1v3star]

OSOBY Z EMETOFOBIA PROSZĘ POMINĄĆ !!💗

Wie ktoś czy częste rzyganie jakoś wpływa negatywnie na organizm? Bo prostu ostatnio nauczyłam się wymuszać wymiotowanie i nie wiem czy może mi się coś stać znaczy nawet jeśli to chuj tylko poprostu pytam

CHUDEGO DNIA/NOCY MOTYLKI I GASIENICZKI 💗🫶🏻

[slashify]

Billy is a bad person and if reading about that is going to drive you to be a jerk to a stranger on the internet you should skip this one.

This one requires a suspension of disbelief, but one time I was watching a show with my dad and he started questioning that school wasn’t cancelled when a corpse was found in the locker room and I said Dad, we’re watching BUFFY the VAMPIRE SLAYER and you’re concerned with realism? And I figure Stranger Things is the same. So.

**

I have a headcanon that in between seasons 2 and 3, Tommy H. and Billy cornered Eddie in the bathroom and literally drowned him in a toilet. Steve entered the bathroom just in time to see Eddie stop thrashing, and he pulled him out and gave him CPR.

Tommy ran off, terrified he’d killed someone, but Billy stared with an unsettling grin on his face until Steve screamed at him to get out when Eddie started coughing up water.

Munson isn’t one of Max’s friends, but Harrington certainly is, and Billy remembers what Max said, remembers the needle in his neck and the helplessness when she slammed that damn bat down between his legs. So he spits on the tile beneath him and leaves Harrington with a smirk.

Steve had wanted to tell Hopper, but Eddie asked him not to.

‘Believe it or not,’ Eddie coughs out, ‘I’m not on the best terms with the chief, man. Not surprised you don’t remember I got busted at one of your stupid parties. It’s their word against mine. Hagan’s parents paid for the new basketball court. Hargrove is a piece of shit, but he is the new king. And I think we both know what they say about me.’

Steve realizes he’s got his arms wrapped around Munson, from when he helped him sit up. Their faces are so close together. Eddie had tasted like peanut butter when Steve had given him mouth to mouth. He tries not to think about the toilet water of it all. The janitor’s name is Mr. Pasco. Steve had apologized to him for the sawdust he’d had to spread out when Steve had come back to school with the nausea of a concussion. He had been nice, and showed a certain pride in his job. He hopes Mr. Pasco had cleaned these toilets thoroughly.

‘Your word and mine.’ He says quietly. He doesn’t know why he’s being quiet.

Eddie scoffs. Coughs twice.

‘You’re gonna go to court for me? King Steve?’ He flops the back of his hand against his forehead, nearly taking Steve out in the process, ‘What WILL the neighbors think?!’ He sags in Steve’s arms. Steve holds him tighter. Eddie coughs a little more.

‘They’ll think that Billy’s a homicidal asshole and that Tommy will go along with anybody who’s popular enough to make up for his dogshit personality.’

Eddie breathes in sharply, then leans down to cough over the bend in Steve’s elbow. Steve rubs circles into the patch on the back of his denim vest.

***

Okay, so this turned into a whole fic, and there’s more! Let me know if you’re interested in reading more of this, please!