#vomiting tw

[userfrieren]

[liketolaugh-writes]

"I was terrified at first, but those guys were so dumb," Danny complained, pressing his hands over his eyes in pure exasperation. Jack and Maddie exchanged a bemused look. "The only one that caught me was Dad, and that was on purpose."

"Wh- I knew I didn't press that button!" Jack yelled, and then almost immediately went cold, remembering exactly what he'd been so excited for. That had been early in Phantom's appearance, their plans hadn't gotten quite so graphic, but he was still going to- they would have- He felt sick. "Jiminy Christmas, Danny, why would you do that?"

Danny ducked his head. Kid looked embarrassed by all the wrong things, seriously. "You didn't have the tech to keep me then," he muttered, sinking down as he apparently realized, three years late, exactly what kind of danger he'd danced with. His voice got even quieter. "And... you were having a really bad day."

Jack swallowed, his saliva thickening with the threat of vomit. "'Xcuse me, I'm going to..." He didn't have an excuse. He shoved himself away from the table and stumbled to his feet, and felt Danny's worried eyes on his back as he hurried toward the kitchen. He didn't throw up, but he braced himself on the kitchen sink and sobbed, as quietly as he could. But he'd never been good at that. He mentally pleaded for Maddie to stay with Danny anyway, make sure he didn't feel bad about this. Didn't feel bad about trying to cheer Jack up by- by-

Jack leaned down and choked.

=====

Someone asked me what other horrifying realizations Jack and Maddie had left to come to in 'The Life and Death of Danny Phantom.'

...Yeah.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ The Threshold of Death

Megatron x Reader - transformers prime Warning: Blood, vomiting, & near-death.

Your heart and breath are in your ears. Something is ringing incessantly. You attempt to shake your head but come to an abrupt halt as searing pain chokes and blinds you. It spreads from the back of your head, down your neck, and into your spine. Your fingers tingle. The right side of your face is wet and warm, burning.

You blink, feeling confused.

One eye is filled with red; the other is blurred but slowly clearing. Slowly, you reach a trembling hand to the side of your face. It stings as you touch it, and removing your hand, you see your fingers covered in blood. It looks black, there’s so much of it. You lick your lips, and you can taste it.

The ground trembles and someone roars with fury, desperation and unbridled fear.

Carefully you look around. Your neck protests but the pain remains a constant ache instead of blinding agony, so you believe it is okay to move. There are rocks around you, boulders even. The ones closest to you are splattered with your blood, and you blink at the sight.

You can’t remember what happened, but the ground trembles again and something large is moving. Lights fly and you look up, wincing at the pain that begins to fill your whole body. Everything hurts but as your vision slowly clears you see familiar shapes. One that is red and blue, and one that is silver with purple accents; bloody seas of red flash now and again, and you’re starting to remember.

The Autobots had managed to locate and sneak onto The Nemesis. Arcee had found you, alone for once in Megatron’s room. She’d been swift but quiet yet none of it had mattered as quickly you’d been discovered. Blasts had been fired. Arcee managed to flee with you, escaping through the very same place she’d boarded.

The elevator trip down into the energon mine had been tense as you knew what awaited you downstairs, but Optimus and the others had been prepared, defeating any remaining vehicons who would attack you upon arrival.

The sight of them all had both warmed your heart and filled it with sorrow, but quickly it all was overshadowed by dread as the sound of a helicopter drew near. There was little warning before Airachnid attacked. You’d been thrown away, landing roughly upon the rock. You were not even given a single attempt to flee into the safety of another Autobot’s waiting servos before the roar of Megatron could be heard, your heart bleeding at the sound.

He landed with a heavy sound, denta gritted in anger as his optics scanned the area furiously, scanning for your presence. He would come to see you, would come to try and take you again even as he fought against Optimus, but a stray blaster shot would cause disaster, and all you could remember was brilliant blue exploding with a roar so loud it hurt your ears before pain engulfed you and darkness consumed you.

You were still alive; somehow.

The pain in your body meant life but you did not know the extent of your injuries. Adrenaline would only fuel you for so long, and so, with a great heave and a deep groan of biting pain, you raised yourself to your feet.

You vomited.

Heaving for breath you stared wide-eyed as bile and blood mixed, the wound to your head apparently worse than you thought as thick droplets drip, drip, dripped. A pathetic whimper left you as agony raked through your neck and spine, and though nauseous and dizzy, you took a small step.

“Help…” you called, so weakly barely you could hear it. Your ears are still ringing, and your right eye is still filled with red. “Help.”

“Don’t move, y/n!” Came the voice of Ratchet. You didn’t know from which direction, but he sounded panicked; afraid. How badly hurt were you? “Stay where you are! Don’t move!”

You stood still, trying to regulate your breathing but it was nearly all you could hear under all that ringing. You felt so sick. You wanted to puke again, but tremors shook the ground, and you nearly stumbled. A pede came in front of you, huge, silver. Your neck hurt too much for you to look up, but sharp digits came into view, though they trembled and did not touch you.

You heard a wavering intake.

“…”

Your eyebrows crunched in confusion as you were unsure if you’d heard someone speak, but the silver digits suddenly disappeared as another tremor shook through the rock beneath you, and someone roared in fury.

You lost your balance and fell upon your back. Pain blinded you as you half-screamed, half-moaned in agony. Blood filled your mouth, and you coughed, struggling to breathe. Your body was on fire and your vision grew spotty, filled with black circles as lights came from above, moving closer, looking concerned and so very afraid.

Such a pretty blue. They reminded you of a clear blue sky in summer.

Someone called your name, or at least you think they did. Your ears haven’t stopped ringing. Your breath still echoes in your mind, and your heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s trying to escape your chest. Everything hurts. You just want to sleep, but someone picks you up and you cry in pain. Whatever holds you is shaking but it’s warm and kind, and it’s moving fast, making you dizzier even as you lose all sense of reality.

Again, a voice calls through the thickness of red water in your ears, and you look around blindly. Tears sting as they fall, and you just want to sleep. You just want to rest against that broad chassis, listening to that pleasant hum of his spark as his sharp digit strokes down along your back. His voice could be so unbelievably pleasant when he wanted it to be. He could be pleasant when he wanted to be.

Even as the servos of Optimus Prime trembled as they cradled your bleeding form, all your heart could think of, wish for, was to return to Megatron. Even if you were to drown in that bloodied sea, even if it killed you; you wanted to return to him.

Mouthing his name in a voiceless whisper, you allow yourself to fall into darkness, leaving the pain, the agony, and the bleeding of your heart.

Previous / Next Music: Gaetir The Mountainkeeper – Norðr

[thebramblewood]

Meet cute, except you and the pretty girl next to you in the hot dog eating contest are both trying to pretend you didn't just watch her puke her guts out.

[whumpy-writings]

The Sacrifice

Here's one of my stories from the 2024 edition of @zineofgid! It takes place in the same world as Blood of Magic, which I swear I'm going to get back to writing at some point.

CW: ritualized torture, human sacrifice, shackles, rope, knives, fire, vomiting, death wish

Tomas had quit fighting weeks ago. He sat with his back against the cold stone wall, his arms shackled above him. His back ached from the lashes the priests had blessed him with yesterday. Tomas closed his eyes as his breath caught in his throat. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be back in the palace, where he had never been hurt. But he was the Sacrifice. His pain was the only thing that ensured the favor of the gods. 

Tomas had been only seven years old when he had realized what would happen to him. It had been the spring equinox and, as was the tradition every year, the Sacrifice was brought in. Tomas was afraid of him. His hair was long, his beard unkempt, and his naked body was covered in scars.

As the Sacrifice was led to the altar, he met Tomas's eyes. Tomas took a step back. 

"Papa?" he whispered, tugging on the king's sleeve. His father looked down at him. "Why does that man look like you?"

The king stiffened. He didn't reply for several long moments. Then he sighed. "He's my brother."

Tomas frowned. "Then why is he being hurt? I thought royalty was supposed to be treated good."

His father rested a hand on his head. "It's a great honor for him. As the eldest, it is his duty to appease the gods. We are all grateful for his sacrifice."

Tomas thought it over. "Papa, I'm the eldest, right?"

"Yes."

"Does-does that mean that I have to appease the gods too?"

His father knelt down and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. "Not yet."

A key scraped in the lock to his cell. Tomas snapped his eyes open as Ebbe entered the room. He was the head priest. Or rather, the head torturer. Tomas cringed back against the wall. 

"Today is the summer solstice. A special day." Ebbe grabbed Tomas's wrist and unlocked the shackle. Tomas started to shake. When the shackles were off, he was hurt.

"Mercy," Tomas whispered as Ebbe unlocked the other shackle. 

Ebbe ignored him, instead grabbing his arm and pulling him roughly to his feet. Tomas cried out. Ebbe was shorter than him by a good couple inches, but Tomas had grown weak during his tenure as the Sacrifice. He didn't have the energy to struggle as Ebbe dragged him out of the cell and through the halls of the temple.

His entire body ached. His back most of all, but his legs and his arms too. Tomas didn't know how he could take twenty more years of this. He had only been here for six months, and already he had begged for death more times than he could count. 

Ebbe led him outside. The first rays of dawn were just touching the horizon, illuminating the harsh rocky landscape. The other priests were already assembled. Ebbe shoved Tomas to his knees. 

"The gods demand that we pay recompense for the sins of our ancestors," he said solemnly. Tomas whimpered. "Our ancestors tortured and killed the god Ogdar, despite his having carved the mighty fjords and stolen fire from the sky for us. The gods sought vengeance. Our people were almost destroyed. But the king offered his eldest son as an offering to the gods. He had him tortured and killed in the same way as Ogdar. The gods accepted this sacrifice and stopped their destruction. However, they required more than just one sacrifice." Ebbe fisted his fingers in Tomas's hair and he gasped in pain. "Ogdar was a god, he was to have lived for millennia. The death of one short-lived human could never equal his death. Therefore, they demanded that every generation the king give his eldest son up to serve as a living Sacrifice. Only by his blood would the cycle of the seasons keep spinning. Only by his blood would the gods be satisfied." 

"Only by his blood," the priests chanted. Ebbe held the blade of his knife against Tomas's chest. Then he pressed down and Tomas bit his lip to keep from screaming. Hot blood ran down his chest. 

"Today is the day of the midnight sun. Today is the day when the gods are closest to us. We will pay them homage."

The priests moved forward. They grabbed Tomas's arms and pulled him toward what looked like a pyre. 

"No! Please no, please no!" Tomas babbled as they dragged him forward. He tried to lock his knees, tried to dig his heels into the ground, but they were too strong. They threw him onto the pyre. Wood scraped across his naked skin. Tomas tried to get to his feet but then knees were pressing into his back. 

"Let me go!" he screamed as they tied his hands behind his back with coarse ropes. They secured his ankles as well, tying them to one of the heavy logs. Tomas lay on his belly as panic consumed him.

"As the sun rises," Ebbe said, "so do the flames of our penitence." Tomas's eyes widened as a torch was brought toward the pyre. He tried to scramble back, but only succeeded in tearing the skin of his torso against the rough wood. 

The torch licked at the pyre. A spark caught and Tomas watched in horror as the fire slowly spread toward him.

"Help!" he screamed. "Please!" The scent of smoke reached his nose. "You'll kill me!"

Ebbe snorted, his face bored. "You'll live, Sacrifice."

The fire was only a foot away from him now. It was getting faster. Tomas shrieked as an ember landed on his cheek. He curled up as best he could to protect his face. Then the flames were on him. Tomas had never felt such pain in his life. His scream didn't even sound human. The fire bit the skin of his back. He was burning alive. He let out another scream but choked on smoke. His vision blurred. 

Then water doused him. He gasped in relief as the priests dumped bucket after bucket on the fire. Someone cut through the bounds around his ankles. They picked him up and Tomas shrieked at the pressure on his burned skin. But then he was being handed down off the pyre, and he had never been more grateful in his life.

"Thank you, thank you," he said, even though the priest had just dumped him unceremoniously on the ground. 

Ebbe stepped into view. "Kneel," he said. Tomas struggled to his knees, the pain from the burns making his vision spin. Ebbe walked behind him. "Excellent," he said. Tomas didn't even realize he had a whip until it cracked against his ruined back. He fell to the ground with a cry of anguish. Another lash hit him.

"I said to kneel, Sacrifice."

Tomas cowered on the ground. His entire body shook as the pain from his back radiated out. The whip cracked above his head.

"Kneel!"

Tomas couldn't move. His vision darkened. Then another lash struck his back and he blacked out.

He came to as someone was bandaging his wounds. Their hands were brisk but gentle. 

Tomas's tongue was thick in his mouth. "Is-is it over?" he choked out, a small flicker of hope in his chest. 

"No."

Tomas choked on a sob. He pressed his face against the grass as the priest continued treating his back.

"He's ready."

Two priests hauled Tomas to his feet and dragged him to kneel in front of Ebbe. He dug his fingers into the grass as he wept. They had seen him cry more times than he could count. 

"Please just kill me," Tomas begged. He pressed his forehead against the ground in supplication. "Please."

Ebbe knelt down. He grasped Tomas's chin and raised his head. Ebbe's eyes were cold. "I cannot take that which belongs to the gods. You are the Sacrifice, and you shall be until the next Sacrifice is ready to take your place. I will not let you die until that point." Tomas's shoulders shook as he sobbed. Ebbe sighed. "You are weaker than your uncle before you. He didn't start begging for death until five years in."

Tomas curled in on himself. He had always been weak. His parents had known his fate, so they had decided to pamper him as a child. He had wanted for nothing. They thought they had been doing him a kindness. But since he had known a life without pain, the pain he experienced now was even worse.

"Feed and water him," Ebbe said with a wave of his hand. "We have much more to do and the day is still young." 

Tomas stared at the ground as his vision blurred with tears. They tortured him, but they always stopped right before his body broke. They gave him food and water, they let him sleep. Part of him had hoped that they would mess up, make a mistake that killed him. But that wouldn't happen. He lived to suffer.

Tomas flinched as a priest crouched down in front of him. 

"Breakfast," he said. Tomas looked up. It was Herron, one of the acolytes. A torturer in training. Tomas's hands shook, but he took the offered bowl of porridge. 

"I don't know why you bother," he muttered. "I'm just gonna puke it all up when you start hurting me again."

Herron sighed. "You need your strength. Please, eat."

Tomas cringed, but he took his spoon and mechanically shoveled a bite of porridge into his mouth. It was bland and almost cold. He forced himself to swallow. He ate slowly. 

"You'll have a break after today," Herron said lowly, so low Tomas almost missed it. He froze with his spoon in the air. "You'll have a month to rest and recover. You just have to get through today."

Tomas's heart pounded in his chest. He'd only been given a couple of days spared from torture since he'd been here. A whole month? 

"Please don't lie to me," Tomas whispered. 

"I'm not—"

"Is he done?" Ebbe called.

Something like anger flashed in Herron's eyes, but it was gone so fast that Tomas must have imagined it.

"Almost!" Herron called back. He turned toward Tomas. "It's true," he whispered. "I wouldn't lie to you."

Tomas shoveled another spoonful into his mouth. He wanted to believe Herron, but he wasn't that naïve. Not anymore.

"I'm done," he said, setting his bowl on the ground.

Herron nodded and picked up the bowl. Tomas wrapped his arms around himself as Herron walked away. 

He didn't fight as a priest dragged him to his feet. He stumbled as the priest led him back into the temple. His stomach twisted. He knew where they were going. To the altar. 

They entered the sanctuary and Tomas let out a sob. The hunk of stone at the center had metal rings attached to the sides. Shackles were hanging from them. Two priests lifted him up onto the altar. Tomas was shaking so hard it took them several tries to get him into position to secure the shackles. 

The familiar metal clamped around his wrists. Tomas whimpered as his ankles were secured as well. He was spread out, naked and fully exposed. Ebbe approached with a dagger in his hand. 

"As Ogdar's blood was spilled, we spill the blood of the king's son. May it quench the thirst of the gods." Ebbe pressed the blade against Tomas's cheek. "Ogdar carved the fjords, we carve your flesh." Ebbe pressed down and dragged the dagger across Tomas's cheek. He was sobbing now, the tears stinging the fresh cut. Hot blood trickled down his face. Ebbe cut the other cheek. Tomas couldn't breathe. He took in one gasping breath after another, but it was like his lungs couldn't take any air. Ebbe was still carving at his cheek.

"I mark you with the runes of Ogdar," Ebbe said. Tomas's stomach roiled. He was going to be sick. Ebbe moved the dagger from his cheek. Then he started on Tomas's chest. Tomas retched. Ebbe's face wrinkled in disgust. "You're pathetic," he said with a sneer. He dug the dagger into Tomas's skin. He screamed. He could feel the knife against his rib.

He flailed around desperately. Ebbe cursed. Tomas couldn't think of anything except escape. He strained against the shackles. Something snapped in his hand and his vision whited out. Then hands were on him, holding him down to the altar.

"Let me go!" he shrieked. "Let me go!"

Someone backhanded him across the face. Blood filled his mouth and he choked. Then a knife stabbed into his thigh, pinning him to the stone. Pain exploded through his leg. Another knife stabbed into his other leg. Tomas fell into darkness.

He awoke slowly. He groaned as pain returned to his body. Tomas opened his eyes. His head spun, but he forced himself to look down at his body. Two daggers were still embedded in his thighs. 

"You're awake." Herron stood at the side of the altar. Tomas trembled, then cried out as the movement made the daggers shift in his legs. "Hush, be still." Herron rested a hand on Tomas's shoulder. "The priests are conferring right now. They don't know if your body can take the rest of the ritual."

Tomas closed his eyes as they stung with tears. He was just so, so tired. Death would be a mercy. Or at least it would be an end to the pain.

"I don't want to hurt anymore," Tomas whispered.

"I know," Herron murmured. "I know. The bastards have no understanding of the scriptures. Instead they subscribe to senseless cruelty."

Tomas wrinkled his brow as he attempted to make sense of that. But then a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him.

He tried to breathe through the pain as he waited for the priests. His heart pounded in his chest, and each beat seemed to set a fresh wave of pain through his body. It was an eternity.

"The gods have spoken," Ebbe finally approached the altar. "They are satisfied with the Sacrifice's performance. The ritual is complete." Tomas let out a sob of relief. He didn't struggle as Ebbe lifted his head up and poured a liquid into his mouth. "Sleep," he commanded. "We will tend your wounds."

The drugged tea pulled at Tomas's mind and his muscles slackened. His eyes drifted closed, and his last thought was gratitude that he wouldn't feel the knives being removed.

"Welcome back." Herron sat in a chair next to Tomas's bed. "We almost lost you. You were asleep for three days."

Tomas winced. He opened his mouth to reply, but was hit by a fit of coughing. Herron helped him drink some water.

"Thank you," Tomas croaked. Herron nodded. Then he grabbed Tomas by the shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. He was so warm. Tomas's hands shook but he wrapped his arms around Herron. He buried his face in his shoulder as silent tears dripped down his cheeks.

"Nobody's going to hurt you. You're going to be okay." 

Tomas wanted to believe him. He really did. But hope wasn't an option. Not for the Sacrifice. 

Tagging the Blood of Magic taglist: @thecyrulik @whump-cravings @teamwhump @ceph-the-ghost-writer @whumpsday @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpcreations @whumpworld

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 5: Not Trusting Reality (Sky & Four)

When I asked which boy you all would like to see a sick fic for almost everyone said Sky or Four. So I'm picking on both XD

Read on Ao3

CW for hallucinations, vomiting, and the general creepiness of the Silent Realm

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

Sky stumbles forward along a road he cannot see. The sound of his own ragged breathing echoes in his ears. His throat prickles with pain. To inhale is agony, swallowing even more so. 

All day, flashes of fever have plagued him. But now he shudders so violently he fears his chattering teeth will snap off the tip of his tongue. 

Failing feet catch on what must be a raised root. His vision is too blurred to verify his guess. He tenses, catches himself moments before his knees give way. But he pays dearly for the swift save. 

His head has throbbed since last night. Now, that excruciating pound overcomes him. He breathes it, smells it, sees it. Blood pulses behind his eyes so fiercely he nearly cries from the force of it. A war drum shouting a warning. 

His stomach somersaults. Sky closes his eyes, forces a breath through clogged nostrils. 

Keep going. Keep walking.

One foot in front of the other. 

He cannot stop. Four will die if he does. 

The smithy lies pale and broken and motionless in his arms. If Sky did not know better he would think his spirit had already ascended to the Sacred Realm, leaving him to embrace a cold corpse. He does know better though.

…he does. 

He glances down again, catches sight of the slightest rise of Four’s small chest, the slightest fall. Just to make sure. 

Blood blossoms across his abdomen, autumn leaves lain gorily across a dusty path. 

Has he bled more since I checked last?

Sky frowns. The wound has been large since a wildly swinging, double-wielding stalfos dealt the blow. But to the question his fatigued mind poses, he lacks an answer. 

Little good it will do him either way. He offered the last of his potion to the smithy an eternity ago, and an eternity ago, the smithy had expelled its contents onto the soft earth. He has drifted in unconsciousness ever since.

Their only salvation now is to find the others.

Once more, Sky lifts his eyes to the heavens. The sunlight sears his irises. The clouds dance about a sea of cerulean. He swears that in their jovial gallivanting, they giggle giddily at his misfortune. 

He grits his teeth and walks forward. 

Hours drag by that may very well be minutes. Seconds feel like years. 

More roots rise to drag his feet from beneath him. Stray pebbles skitter out of his way. Damp piles of leaves turn the undersides of his boots slick. He slips, stops his fall with an outstretched hand pressed to a hefty oak. The tiny birds nestled in its branches loudly chastise his clumsiness. 

His throat grows drier. There is a fire within it now. It clashes with the ice in his heart, a battle of heat and cold that seeks to bring him to the ground. The earth dips and sways like the deck of the ship. He half expects great tentacles to erupt from it and grasp his body, hurl him into the sun where he will burn up into a million tiny flecks of ash. 

Sky shudders and his head screeches its protests at the motion. He moves and nausea roils so dreadfully in his gut that it takes his breath away. Footsteps whisper behind him. Voices murmur ahead. More than once, he breaks into a stumbling run, thinking that his brothers have finally come.

They never do.  

Something else arrives instead. 

It unfurls itself over the space like the massive crackling legs of a lounging skulltula. Sky looks up. His blood turns to ice.

The heavens no longer burn his aching eyes. Now, they are covered by a fog of filmy turquoise that smothers the glory of the sun. Drifting dots of pearly white pass him, suspended in the air. The soft chime of distant bells filters through the rush of pain and blood that has filled his ears thus far.

Sky stands frozen. His heart flutters madly in his chest. His head feels weightless, light. Too light to keep his leaden body afloat. 

To fall is a death sentence. To move is a plunge into an open grave. 

There are no blossoms of spirit nestled amongst the trees or the mossy ground they reside in. There is no salvation here.

Tears burn at the edges of his sight. They smear the various colors into one, messy hue of blue. 

Why? Why now?

“S-Sky?”

Four’s eyes flutter open. Kaleidoscope colors are unnaturally vibrant. Dark pupils are mismatched. Cracked, bloodied lips part as he gazes blearily at something just over Sky’s left shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He murmurs, words bumping into one another in their effort to escape. “Is there another attack? I can help. I’ll fight.”

Sky shakes his head. Speech is something he dares not attempt now. The burn in his throat makes him ill.

But there is no fighting here. This is a battle they cannot win. 

There is only flight.

Keep going. Move forward. 

He drags in a wavering breath. He will not be late again. He will not sit here while Four suffocates on his own blood. He will not watch through hazy vision as his brother breathes his last.

Sky takes a step forward. The world screams. A clock ticks down, a siren blaring oncoming doom.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The pound of booted feet sets the ground quaking. Wildly, he searches for the gleam of silver-white armor, the glow of eyes, piercing and soulless. 

He sees no one and nothing. But still, feverish hues sting. Still, crimson drips like torrents of blood. And the seconds screech.

One, two, three, four…

Sky breaks into a run.

Four cries out at the jostling. The sound is weak, a mouse tread upon by an oblivious foot. 

“Sky…” He gasps the name. White knuckles fist in Sky’s tunic, in his sailcloth. “What?”

Again, Sky shakes his head.

His breath comes sharp, haggard, choking through a throat pulled tight. His body aches. His bones feel as though someone has reached deep within and snapped them one by one, set the marrow aflame. The beat of his heart fills his head near to bursting. Tears pool anew within the eyes he struggles to keep open. Shivers run rampant down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stand aloft. 

Panic blurs thoughts already scattered. 

I’m sorry.

He can’t see anything, feels nothing but terror. The shink of sharpening blades is near to his throat. Any moment now they will strike. 

Any moment…

His knees give way. With a shout of fear and pain, he goes down. Four tumbles from his arms with a cry and goes limp once more. Sky falls into the leaves and dirt, iron on his tongue, agony in his heart.

For a moment, he lies stunned. Then, the panic returns with vengeful fervor and he shoves himself up. The Master Sword slips from her sheath with a distant murmur. Trembling hands caked with blood and dirt hold her aloft.

He sees them now, the Guardians that come for him, for Four. In a group of seven they arrive, beasts looming out of the gathering mist. 

Already, he is failing. Failing the hero that he could not keep ahold of. Failing the brothers he has tried so hard to return to. Yet, still he will fight. 

He does not know whether Guardians fall to the sacred blade. He has never had the chance to see. All he has now is hope. And that can be a flimsy thing.

“Sky.” One of them puts out a hand, raises its blade. “Put down the sword. It’s just us.”

“You’re safe,” says another, with claymore raised high. “Please, Sky.”

Sky lists sideways, takes a clumsy swing. His palms burn. The blade collides with something metallic, glances off. He pulls back and stretches his arm upward. 

Lightning sears his hands. The sun devours him. Ice pierces his heart.

“Watch out!” Someone shouts as the projectile of pure light soars forth. 

The Guardians scatter. And in the next instant, something slams into him from the side. 

Sky hits the ground and sees stars. Arms wrap around him, tightening when he fights. A voice rumbles like thunder in the distance. 

A voice so familiar that it aches.

“Sky, Sky, it’s alright.” 

Blurred vision clears just enough that he can make out the glint of an armor plate, the distant faces of people he knows.

He sucks in air and feels like he is suffocating regardless. A sob rises in his throat.

This isn’t real. It can’t be. But, oh does he want it to be. He yearns for it in his very bones.

“W-Warriors?” Sky’s voice is little more than a croak and it is agony to allow it to break free. 

“Shh.” A hand cups the back of his head, gentle, firm. “I’m here. Don’t speak. We’ve got you.”

“Four…” Tears roll down his cheeks. Heavy eyelids lower at last to protect his stinging eyes. He clings to this phantom with strong arms and a warm embrace. He clings to this vision for fear that it will break. “Hurt…gotta save him. Couldn’t save him. Sorry. So sorry. Please.”

“It’s alright,” comes Warriors’ voice again. “He’ll be alright. You both will. You did well, Sky.”

He chokes on a cry. Sky hides his face in the tunic and sobs until he is certain his throat will simply shatter, his head explode. And when unconsciousness comes at last, it is heralded by the sugary soft embrace of a fairy’s touch, the sweet melody of a murmured song. 

If this is a dream, he thinks as darkness covers him like a silken duvet, he prays that he will never wake from it.

[riverphoenixsgothwife]

love at first fright by murderdolls is something that can be so beetlebabes

[guess568]

Finally vomited properly

Went and had a nice breakfast with my mates and then chugged some Pepsi, coke and fizzy water. That didn’t make me puke so fingers had to be used to bring it all up. It tasted very sweet as I had just chugged a large Diet Coke from McDonald’s. There’s some vegetables in there from my lunch and some bacon in there as well and bits of vegetable samosa. It felt so good to go from being nauseous and overfull to feeling all the chunks and liquid rushing up my throat. I even managed to vomit on my phone at one point. I managed to get a video of me throwing up so let me know if you guys want to see it. Also let me know what I should eat before I bring it all back up next time.

[littleholmes]

Poor Kin and Yuta—that’s gotta be an incredibly intense punch when two of the strongest students, who Gojo said were positioned to potentially match up and outclass him one day, are saying that a punch from Gojo hurt so bad they got sick

[anti-hero-au]

Page 54

{Previous} {Next}

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Job (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 2. Exhaustion, 8. Panic Attack, 18. Vomiting, 21. Shock, Alt 6. Crying to Sleep Fandom: Peaky Blinders, Tommy Shelby, f!reader, prostitute!reader Summary: After being forced to witness the bloodbath at the stables, you are left shaken to the core. So when Tommy comes to visit you a few days later, you demand answers leading to a revolution you never expected. Word Count: 4266 TW: Steamy Situations/Soft Smut, Non-sexual Nudity, Shock, Trauma, Vomiting, Tears, Mentions of Prostitution, Smoking, Language Notes: A HUGE thanks to @loverhymeswith who not only sent me the ask that inspired this fic and helped me perfect this part, but also for getting me into Peaky Blinders in the first place! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Masterlist (coming soon)

Part 1, Part 2

As you hurried from the stable and the nightmare within, you saw Arthur, John, and a handful of others you recognized as Peaky Blinders pulling up out front. No one looked at you directly as they climbed out of their cars—Arthur the only one to even acknowledge you with a small nod—before silently heading into the stables and drawing their pistols. You increased your pace but you were still within earshot when the cacophony of gunfire sounded behind you. Even though it was too late, you pressed your hands over your ears as you fled down the street, tears blurring your vision as you went. 

Yet no matter how quickly you ran nor how much distance you put between yourself and the bloody massacre you had just escaped from, you felt as if you were still there. Trembling behind the hay bales as the world exploded in blood around you. It was the stuff of nightmares you had heard about in whispers behind closed doors, but the reality of experiencing it first-hand was far more horrifying than you could ever have imagined.

After what seemed like an eternity, you finally stumbled up the front steps of your lodging. Your hands were trembling so badly that it took you three tries to finally get the key in the lock to open the door and, once inside, you rushed quickly to your room. 

Despite it being the middle of summer, you were shivering uncontrollably and there was a chill deep in your bones. After much trouble, you got a fire started in your fireplace and you huddled next to it as closely as you could stand. And yet, the chill persisted. 

Looking down, you saw that small flecks of blood had landed on your new dress and you immediately ripped it off and threw it into the fire. Even if it could have been cleaned, the events of the night had stained the dress in ways that could never be washed off. You would never be able to forget what you witnessed no matter how hard you tried—you didn’t need a reminder of it hanging in your wardrobe as well. 

Standing before the fireplace in only your undergarments, you watched as the once beautiful gown blackened and burned, slowly falling apart as it turned to ash. You wished there was a way to rid yourself of your memories as easily as you had the dress. The sounds of the screams, the metallic bite of blood in the air, the way Tommy’s blue eyes peered at you from a face stained red. All building up to the thunderous booms of gunfire as you fled the stable.

And it was all your fault. 

You had led those men to their deaths. Even if Tommy hadn’t explicitly told you what was to happen once you lured them to the stable, you should have realized what he planned to do. You knew his reputation for dealing with threats to his empire and yet, you had agreed to do what he wished with only the slightest of hesitations. If not for you, those men would be home with their wives or children at the moment instead of lying in a heap in an empty stable waiting for a handful of Peaky Blinders to come to dispose of their bodies.

That thought was the final straw. You dropped to your knees as you emptied the contents of your stomach across your floor. Over and over you retched, even past the point of having anything left in your stomach to expel. Every time you thought the nausea had settled, the memory of the blood-soaked stable would flash in your mind and you would gag once more.

Finally, once your body physically could not take anymore, you rolled over and curled up next to the fire. With tears streaming down your face and a weak whimpering in your burning throat, you slipped into unconsciousness only to find the horrors of the night were waiting to torment you there as well.

The next few days were some of the worst of your life. At first, you tried to push what had happened to the back of your mind and move on as you attempted to continue about your days as normal. However, that was much easier said than done. The feeling of nausea failed to leave you and all you could manage to hold down was broth or a little bread. 

After the initial horror of the experience settled a little in your mind, you realized it wasn’t even the fact that all those men died that was really bothering you. Yes, the taking of any life was a tragedy but they were gang members who voluntarily chose this life. They knew the dangers involved with it and the potential consequences. And it wasn’t as if you weren’t used to witnessing violence after spending your entire life in Birmingham. It was just a way of life here.

No. What was really making you sick to your stomach was Tommy and how he had involved you in his feud. You were used to him using your body on a weekly basis—you gladly offered it up—but this? This was something completely different.  

He had made you an unwilling, unknowing accomplice to his dastardly deed. Then he had forced you to stand there and witness every last horrifying second of it. The image of his pale blue eyes boring into you from a crimson-drenched face, his outstretched finger pinning you in place from across the room, was burned into your soul. 

Why had he forced you to stay? You had done everything he had asked of you, so why did he want to punish you so? Why did he feel the need to curse you with these images that would haunt you for the rest of your life?

The dread in your chest only grew stronger with each passing day as Tommy’s scheduled visit approached. Wednesday simultaneously came too quickly and seemed to take an eternity to arrive. 

Usually just before he was set to appear, you would put on your finest dressing gown and style your hair just the way you knew he preferred. Then you would wait by the entrance with a cigarette and a glass of whiskey ready for him. However, this time when Thomas Shelby walked through your door, you were seated on the edge of your bed in a simple shift dress that laced up the front. As he entered, your shoulders folded in on themselves as you shrank slightly away from him. Hesitantly, you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eyes. 

If he noticed anything was different, Tommy did not address it. He simply strolled over to the table, took off his coat, and began unbuckling his belt as he asked, “Shall we get to it then?”

You made no move to stand or begin removing your clothes. Instead, you wrapped your arms across your chest, and with a slight quiver in your voice, you whispered, “H-how can you just walk in here as if nothing happened? As if this were just any other Wednesday and nothing has changed?"

He paused as he pursed his lips and gave a slight shrug. "Nothing has changed. I'm here for your services just as I am every week."

"Tommy, I watched you murder an entire room full of men right before my eyes. And I-I helped you do it. I mean, I know I agreed to help you but you never told me I would be leading them to you like lambs to the slaughter.”

His icy blue eyes took on an extra chill as he took a few steps towards you. With a slight bite to his words, he said, “You are neither foolish nor naive. You knew what would happen once you got to the stable.”

“I thought you would talk to them! Give them a warning, maybe send a message! Yes, I knew violence would probably be involved but I didn’t expect you to massacre every single one of them!”

A cunning, almost bordering on cruel, smile spread across his face. “Oh, but I was sending a message. Now anyone else out there who thinks they can fuck with the Peaky Blinders will see what will happen if they come for us.”

“But why did you have to involve me? What did I do to displease you to the point you would—” Tommy’s face dropped as the first tears spilled from your eyes and you took a wet, shaky breath, looking to the ceiling as you blinked rapidly and tried to maintain your composure. You had to know. This question had been haunting you almost as much as what you had witnessed. “I haven't been able to eat or sleep since that night. I feel as if I’m going mad. Every time I close my eyes all I can see is blood and I hear the howls of pain as those men died. Tommy, I have to know why you made me stay. What was the point? I tried to leave but you….Why did you make me witness that?”

For a moment, the room was still as the suffocating silence filled the room. Why wasn’t he answering your question? Maybe he didn’t have an answer. Maybe it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision in the heat of battle. Maybe to him, it meant nothing at al—

“You had to stay because I needed you to see the man I truly am.” 

Your eyes snapped to his face as you looked at him directly for the first time, your brow furrowed in astonishment. “W-what?”

Reaching into his pocket, Tommy pulled out a cigarette. However, unlike usual, he didn’t light it. He just rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully. Then he tapped the end on the table before looking back at you. “The last time I was here you spoke of the Peaky Blinders as if I was not part of them. As if I was not the one in charge of them. Just because I don’t talk about that business with you does not mean it isn’t my life. That I am not as guilty if not more of their ‘transgressions’ as you put it. And I needed to remind you of that.”

“I have never had any misconceptions of who you are or what you do. Even before the first time you came to me, I knew the name Thomas Shelby and I knew the stories. And though the man I have come to know here in this room is far different from what I expected from those stories, they were never far from my mind.”

“But knowing and seeing are two very different things, eh?” Tommy asked. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you are keeping your distance? The way you are too afraid to even look at me directly?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Tommy.”

“Is that right?” He placed his cigarette down on the table and began slowly strolling over to the bed. “Then if it isn’t fear, what is it? Disgust? Loathing? What is it that you see when you look at me now?” He stopped as he reached the foot of the bed. 

Shaking your head, you said, “Tommy, please—”

He stepped closer until he was less than an arm's length in front of you. You dropped your eyes to the floor as he towered over you. 

“Look at me.” When you continued to avoid his gaze, he firmly grabbed your chin between his fingers and forced your head up so you had no choice but to look into his startling blue eyes. “Look at me! And tell me what you see.” You opened your mouth to speak, but he added, “The truth.”

Trembling, you gazed into his eyes and whispered, “I… I see a man capable of unspeakable horrors. One who has washed in the blood of other men, and will readily do so again.”

Tommy stared back at you without the slightest reaction to your words. Then he nodded softly and released your chin. You slid closer to the head of the bed and wrapped your arms around yourself as he turned. Silently, he walked across the room, grabbed his coat, and began to put it on. 

However, you weren’t ready for him to leave. Maybe it was his explanation and reasoning as to his actions or maybe it was the idea that if you let him walk out that door you may never see him again, but something deep inside you had shifted as you answered his question. What you had said was your honest answer, but the truth was so much more complicated than that. And you couldn’t let him leave without hearing the rest of your response.

Taking a deep breath, you stood off the bed, walked over to him, and placed your hand on his forearm. He paused, one brow raised as he waited for you to explain your action.

Wetting your lips, you softly said, “But I also see a man who only does these things for the sake of his family and their interests.” Tommy’s face remained emotionless, but you felt some of the tension ease out of him under your touch so you continued. 

“I don’t think I can ever support your actions that night and it still makes me sick that you made me a part of it and then forced me to watch. You should have at least warned me or let me leave because I didn’t need the lesson you tried to teach me. I hate what you did, but I understand why it was necessary. And as much as I’m loath to admit it…. There is a sort of honor in it. Those men posed a threat to the lives of every member of the Peaky Blinders as well as their loved ones. And you shed their blood so the blood of your people wouldn’t be.” 

Your hand slowly trailed up his arm and across his chest until it rested just over his heart. Feeling it drumming steadily against your palm, you softly added, “The Peaky Blinders are lucky to have someone like you watching out for them.”

As usual, Tommy maintained his mask of indifference, but not even he could control his heart. You felt it jump underneath your hand as the drumming began to pick up its tempo. He blinked, long and slow, before gazing at you once more and it seemed as if some of the ice in his eyes had melted ever so slightly. 

He placed his palm over top of where your hand still lay on his chest. “I hope you know that you are one of the people under my protection. I swore I would never let any harm befall you, even that by my own hand.” His other hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb gently tracing the dark bags that had formed this past week under your eyes. “And yet it seems that is exactly what I did. I thought by making you see me for who I really am I would be protecting you. But I was so blinded by that thought I did not see the hurt I would cause instead. I am truly sorry.”

You were utterly speechless. As long as you had known him, you had never once heard Tommy admit fault or apologize for any of his actions. He only ever brushed off these incidents and changed the subject, but for him to tell you he was sorry? He must honestly regret his poor decision.

“I-I forgive you,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering as his thumb continued to caress your face. “Just don’t ever put me in a situation like that again. Please.”

“I promise.” His hand slid down your cheek slightly until his fingers brushed against your lips. “Shall we seal it with a kiss?”

Faintly, you nodded, your head spinning with anticipation for what was to come. Tommy bent over until his lips lightly grazed yours, the feeling no more than a whisper. For a moment, your heart dropped in disappointment and you figured you had misread the situation. However, when Tommy’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck and he pulled you into him, the kiss became something else entirely. 

You sometimes kissed Tommy during your weekly appointments but even then, at the peak of pleasure, it never felt like this. Now, there was a heat, an urgency, a need behind his lips that made your knees grow weak. It was something you had never experienced with any man, let alone Tommy.  But the fact that it was him kissing you like this made everything more intense and overwhelming in the best way. You never wanted it to stop.

As you began kissing him back with the same intensity, Tommy’s hands came to rest on your hips and he guided you over to the table. Dropping into one of the chairs, he pulled you onto his lap, your legs spread on either side of his waist. You could feel him already hardening in his slacks and you wrapped your legs around his hips to draw yourself in even closer. 

He buried his face in your hair, his long eyelashes fluttering against the edge of your face for a moment until he turned his head. Slowly, his lips slipped across your jaw, breathing ghostlike kisses in their wake as his mouth traveled along the curve of your throat. When he reached your shoulder, he bit down lightly. This drew a soft gasp of pleasure from your lips and you felt him buck against you in response. 

Yet before his mouth could dip any lower, you tilted his chin so you could see his face. 

His usually pale blue eyes had darkened with lust and the hunger you saw there made you ache deep within your core. This was a different side to Tommy, a side that you had never seen before. While your time together was always pleasurable, you were providing him a service and that was always apparent in his actions. But now…it felt about you just as much as about him. It felt like something deeper than just his regular weekly appointment. Yet before you lost yourself completely to him, before you let yourself believe it could be more, you had to know for sure.

Holding your breath, you murmured, “What is this, Tommy? Business or pleasure?”

Brushing his fingers across your cheek, he responds in a low, husky whisper. “For me, it stopped being business long ago.”

A brilliant smile spread across your face as you surged forward to recapture his lips. Kissing you back with the same fervor, he stood, his strong arms supporting you so you remained wrapped around his waist, and carried you over to your bed. Without breaking your kiss, he laid you down and settled above you. 

Your eyes drifted shut and you could feel his nimble fingers begin fiddling with the laces across the front of your dress, even as his tongue slid past your lips. You arched your back to allow him easier access to the ties as the aching between your legs intensified. But after a moment, he froze and then suddenly pulled back. At first, you were worried you did something wrong, but as you opened your eyes, you saw all of his concentration had shifted to the laces still perfectly fastened in place.

As he continued his futile attempt to untie your dress, he cursed softly and muttered, “Damn you woman for wearing this infernal thing."

Leaning forward, you smiled into his neck before teasing, your lips brushing across his skin, “Come now, Tommy. One might think you’d never undressed a woman before.”

He paused, his head tilting until he locked eyes with you. Then, without breaking eye contact, he curled his fingers into the fabric of your bodice and gave a firm pull, causing the dress to rip open down to your waist. You let out a gasp of surprise but Tommy swallowed the sound as his mouth found yours once again.

With your legs still encircling his waist, you pulled him in closer until his hips were flush with yours and you could feel him straining for release against your clothed core. Slowly, you began rolling your hips to rub against him and you were rewarded with a deep rumble deep within his chest. 

“Not so fast, you little minx,” Tommy growled, nipping at your lip. “There’s no rush tonight. You wanted to know what this was between us? Well, I’m going to show you. Over and over and over, until you never again doubt that this is all about pleasure.” A soft shudder of pleasure shivered down your spine at his words and he smiled. “Now, let me watch you take off what’s left of that dress then our night can begin.”

You had serviced Thomas Shelby more times than you could count. But that night became the first time you and Tommy made love….over and over and over and over, just like he promised. 

Remarkably, you slept like a babe that night—the first real sleep you had had since the night in the stable. Even though you hadn’t opened your eyes yet, you could tell you had slept through the rest of the evening and well into the next morning by the warmth of the sun trickling in through your window onto the bed. The sunbeams felt heavenly on your bare skin and you hummed contently as you basked in the glow. 

Stretching to help wake up your sluggish limbs, you opened your eyes and found yourself staring directly into a pair of familiar glacial eyes. 

“Tommy!” You were instantly wide awake as you scrambled out of bed, dragging the bedsheet along with you to wrap around your naked body. “Wha-what are you still doing here? I mean, you don’t stay afterward. You never stay afterward.” You felt your face grow hot as you realized now that you had stolen the sheet, he was lying bare in your bed, fully on display. It took all of your willpower to keep your eyes locked on his face and not let them drift down the muscular planes of his body or linger on the hardness between his legs.

Completely unfazed by your reaction or his naked state, Tommy propped himself up on one elbow. “You said you hadn’t been sleeping this past week yet you looked so peaceful last night I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You blinked several times in quick succession as you tried to process that information. “So you stayed….for me?”

He shot you a coy grin. “Yes, I stayed for you. Though my motives may not have been as selfless as you make it seem.” His expression softened and he opened up his arms inviting you back to bed. “The truth is, I too found myself more at peace with you by my side than I have in a long time.”

You relaxed slightly, the motion causing the sheet to slip down until your breasts were almost completely uncovered. Tommy’s eyes shifted down to them and you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling. Apparently, for once you had more self-control than the great Thomas Shelby. But that feeling of superiority didn’t last long as your nerves once again gripped you as you faced the situation at hand.

“So, if that’s true….What do we do now?” you hesitantly asked as you worried the sheet between your fingers, afraid his answer might have changed now in the bright light of day. “Do we resume our business as usual or has this become something else? Something more?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” Tommy reached over to the small side table where his pack of cigarettes and lighter were waiting and pulled one out. Once it was lit, he took a long drag, held it, and slowly let the smoke stream from his lips. “I told you last night that this has not been business to me for a long time. I’ve respected what you do but if I had my way, you’d be mine and mine alone.”

This time, you didn’t even attempt to mask the smile spreading across your face. In fact, you embraced it until it was shining almost as brightly as the dancing across the room. “And what would you do with me, Thomas Shelby? If I was yours and yours alone?” you teased, leaning forward to show off even more of your exposed breast.

“I’d give you the fucking world.”

All of your playfulness evaporated with your sharp intake of breath. You scanned Tommy’s face for any indication he was joking or teasing you back, but there was none. As you locked eyes with him, all you saw was sincerity. It was truly how he felt. 

Trying to project the same level of honesty back at him, you whispered, “I don’t need the world, Tommy. As long as I have you…that’s all I’ll ever need.”

“Well, you are in luck, love,” he said as he stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the table. His eyes swiveled back to yours and he added matter-of-factly, “Because you’ve got me.”

You nodded, tears slightly blurring your vision. “And you’ve got me too. For forever. Starting right now.”

You dropped the sheet to the floor, pausing for just a moment to let Tommy take you in. Then you climbed back on the bed and into his waiting arms. 

I am toying with an idea for a Part 3 so let me know if you would be interested!

Tag List: @lucien-calore, @zebralover

[scientested]

It's like some kind of fucked up animal trapped in a robot's body to me

[scout90-again]

Since people are posting their favorite tadc clips, here's mine

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 14: “Feed me poison, fill me til I drown”

Read it on Ao3

- Time & the Chain

- Summary: Time grows ill by no ordinary sickness

CW for poisoning and all the horrifying symptoms that come with it (including vomiting and severe shortness of breath) and kidnapping

———————————-

The inn has become outrageously loud.

Time isn’t certain when it went from the usual hubbub of gathered humanity to an overwhelming cacophony of noise. All he knows is that he needs to get away from it. Now. Before he gives in to the urge to curl up on the floor in fetal position.

Strange. He can’t recall the last time he yearned to do that.

It has been years, to be certain. Years since a small child hid in a Castle Town alleyway because it had all, very suddenly, grown to be too much.

Time drags in a breath that doesn’t fully fill his lungs and pushes himself to his feet. If he steels himself, perhaps, he can look purposeful rather than panicked.

“What’s up, old man?”

Legend is staring at him from where he sits on a bench, wedged between Wild and Hyrule. He raises an eyebrow.

“You heading to bed already?”

Time tries to smile. It comes out feeling more like a grimace.

When had it grown so cold in here?

It feels as though the winds of Snowhead have swept in through the swinging double doors. He shivers slightly and the small movement makes the pounding in his head a hundred times worse.

“I’m actually headed outside,” he says, his own voice sounding strangely far away. “I just need a bit of air.”

They’re all watching him now, varying levels of concern on their faces.

“Are you alright?” Sky asks.

Time nods. “Don’t worry about me. It’s just a bit stifling in here is all. I’ll be back in soon.”

Most of them still look worried, but he can hardly afford to stand here, assuring them of his good health. The room is closing in now and blurring slightly at the edges. If he doesn’t get out soon…

With a desperate sort of abruptness, Time turns on his heel and heads for the door.

The main streets of Castle Town are still busy. The inn is relatively out of the way, though, situated snuggly in the back of the town. Few people come down here and Time is glad of it. With a sigh of relief he leans back against the wall.

…only for his legs to give way seconds later.

The ground tips beneath his feet, his stomach lurches, and suddenly he finds himself on his hands and knees. He stares down at the cold cobblestone, trying vainly to comprehend what has just happened. He had been fine a half an hour ago — he had been fine mere seconds ago, save of course, for the sudden onset of a migraine and the dizziness and cold and the way the room had surged and shrieked like a monster let loose…but those had been…

Time’s eye widens slightly. A series of shives rage through him, sudden and unbidden and terrible. They make his teeth chatter so hard he has to grit them together to keep from biting his tongue.

Something is wrong, he realizes, somewhat dazedly. Very wrong. He has suffered enough illnesses, enough injuries to know this one is not normal.

But his head has begun to feel heavy, his thoughts as sluggish and thick as the fog of the Lost Woods. And though he grasps for it, the answer he seeks hovers just out of reach.

Then, it flees entirely, replaced instead by sheer panic.

He can’t breathe.

He tries, fighting to draw precious air through airways that suddenly feel too tight. But he only manages a half-breath that leaves him feeling dizzy. Desperately, he inhales once more.

But his lungs don’t expand to welcome the air he craves. Instead, the pounding in his head intensifies. And in the next moment, his stomach rebels violently. He pitches forward and vomits.

There’s blood in it, he notes, blearily. That’s more than a little worrying.

Or it would be if he could think past the immediate conglomeration of dizziness and pain and a hazy sort of directionless fear.

A shudder rages through him. His body decides it no longer has the strength to hold itself up. He collapses sideways and his surroundings tip with him, streetlights smearing golden light across a navy sky, buildings elongating unnaturally.

For a terrible moment, he is certain that he’s falling. And maybe he’ll keep falling, down, down, down into endless darkness and he’ll be trapped again, imprisoned in a world that won’t remember him, a world destined to be destroyed.

But then his shoulder connects painfully with something hard and he realizes he is lying on the cobblestones.

Still fighting to breathe. And now to swallow. It feels as though his entire throat is closing itself off. Soon he won’t have any air at all.

This has all escalated rather quickly, he thinks with an absurd, giddy sort of mirth. And to think all he had wanted was fresh air. Unfortunately, for him there is none to be had.

Another round of shivers come, tearing his aching body apart, stealing what little breath he still has. It drives away the odd hilarity, brings back the panic of before.

He needs to get up. He needs to find help. But even speaking seems an insurmountable challenge.

Time squeezes his eye shut. His fingernails are sharp against his palm, but the pain grounds him, keeps him awake. And somehow, he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he has to stay awake.

Nausea roils in him again. He gags, tasting blood and the remnants of dinner. Dimly, he wonders how long ago it was when he sat with the other heroes, listening to them laugh and tell stories over bowls of warm stew. It feels like an eternity has passed since then. But he doubts that that is true.

Either way, the thought of food makes his stomach protest. There is nothing left in it now to expel. Yet his body tries anyway, violently. Clearly, it wants whatever is inside of him, out.

Poison.

The realization finally breaks through. But it’s too late to entertain the fresh wave of panic. He is fading now, the taste of blood pungent on his tongue, stones cold against his skin. Even if he had the strength to do more than lie here and attempt to breathe, it wouldn't do him any good. He doesn’t know how to deal with poison. He’s never had to learn.

Footsteps sound now. He registers them, distantly, through a fog he can’t find his way out of. Then, voices reach him, muffled by the whirring in his ears.

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’s still breathing. I can hear his wheezing from here. Pathetic.”

“Besides, we never wanted him completely dead, remember? Just very, very close. Now, come on. You know what to do.”

Hands grasp his arms and roughly haul him up. Ropes snake around his wrists and pull tight. A cloth finds its way into his mouth. And all the while his every instinct screams at him to run, to struggle, to fight. But his limbs are leaden, unable to even keep him upright. He slumps heavily in his captor’s grasp.

“He won’t last much longer without the antidote.”

“Well, we don’t have much longer before the others worry and come to check on him. We go now. He’ll last until we get where we need to be.”

They begin to drag him. His feet are uncooperative, unable to even catch on the stones as they move forward. Darkness dances tantalizingly before him. He tries and fails to take another breath.

“It’s better this way,” he hears them say faintly, in the moments before he plunges into oblivion, “to keep him in this state. The Hero of Termina…he isn’t one you should underestimate.”

[quitealotofsodapop]

[sharing some of Macaque's symptoms due to the energy transfer]

This is probably related to being de-energized from the transfer, but I can't help but imagine both dealing with things like morning sickness or SWK now unable eat anything peach-related because the baby doesn't like the fruit X'D

Yup! Turns out that "sharing" the energy as often as Wukong does, sympathetically gives him a lot of Mac's symptoms. He might as well be "background pregnant" while MK is still in the oven. I got the idea from the JTTW where SWK and Macaque shared the pain of the Headache Circlet.

The idea of Wukong experiencing an extreme repulsion towards fresh fruit is hilarious. Whats even more so? Macaque doesnt have that problem. Wukong's symptoms are his own.

Wukong: "Oh boy peaches!" *nom!*

Wukong: "...why I need to throw up rn?"

Macaque, happily eating a peach sorbet: "Cus you're weak."

Another symptom that Wukong has that Mac doesn't; is that he can *see* the transfer of energy between their bodies whenever he uses Gold Vision. And he can sorta see the little guy forming in it - which means he accidentally spoils some details.

Wukong, Gold Vision on: "Whoa! The soul is a boy!"

Macaque, who was just chilling and watching Monkey Cop: "...what?"

Wukong will ham up the symptoms to get others to do stuff for him ie; do the dishes, give him food, let him sleep in etc. He is also def the one who wears the goofy maternity clothes with slogans like "Baby on Board" or "Eating for Three" (technically accurate) on them.

If Macaque ever accidentally "ate" Wukong too much, SWK would get faint and both will get very ill.

[snoddie]

The month of June day 26

This is how I've felt lately please end me.

🤢🤢🤢