#without wanting to barf out my whole stomach in a bucket

[beyond-the-rabbit-hole]

Aeugh, hog,,,,,, could I see more of fairmount struggling. It is the only cure to my newly found illness

Fairmount vs Sick Days

Features: Fairmount, Stephbit Warnings: None

The main thing that Fairmount struggles with is his body. Whether it’s keeping his form consistent, physically melting, or turning to a marble-like substance, it’s tough. Add on to the fact that if he wants to get a break from the skull council, he has to hijack another Evan from his Habit and you’ve got a recipe for agony. This makes it even funnier when he’s sick.

If he’s got a fever, he’ll pool into the floor, if he’s got chills, he turns to marble. If he’s got a stomach bug though, that’s a whole other can of worms.

Fairmount can’t puke.

He can feel sick, sure, but spending hours hunched over a bucket with nothing coming up is hell for him. ‘One of these days’, he thinks over and over again, ‘One of these days, I’m going to barf and it’s probably going to kill me.’

When a member of the skull council gets sick, they’re usually quarantined to the furthest corner in the back of the mind, usually where Centralia is stuck. Of course, this means that Centralia is free to cause a little chaos, but it’s worth not getting everyone in the skull sick, why, that would mean Evan might regain control and that just wouldn't do.

So, Fairmount is huddled in the backroom of the skull, wrapped up in some shitty imaginary blanket he cooked up for himself and trying his best to just vomit and get this shit over with, but without any luck, he’s sulking.

“This is bullshit! You guys know that this is bullshit!”

“Pipe down! Just die quietly back there!” Stephbit laughed.

“Fuck you! At least when you’re sick you can-”

“Yeah yeah, we can puke! We get it! Sorry you’ve got not only the mind, but also the body of a rat!” She cackled, perfectly happy to mock him while he can’t do anything back.

“You’re a bitch!”

“And you’re a five cent hooker!”

“I swear to god once I sweat this out, I’m gonna kill you!”

“Okay! Have fun with that ratboy!”

[purpleandrednotes]

Hey I’m somewhat conscious after surgery at 10am. First time with anesthesia went well when I went under. I was getting blurry on the way to to surgical room and they were right, it got colder. I remember they lifted me up onto the surgical table and when they put the oxygen mask, as soon as i closed my eyes, I was out.

I could tell time passed because I saw darkness for what felt like a minute. It wasn’t instant, but it wasn’t the whole duration of the surgery. I woke up in recovery coughing and asking them if they found anything. Cried tears of joy when they said yes and it was cauterized.

The hardest part was putting the damn needle into my body because they tried three times. I passed out during the first.

When I came to, I was nauseated. I threw up four times, whenever they moved me. Because I had to pee so so badly. It was hell. I passed out getting into the wheelchair from the bed. I had to wait twenty minutes before I could be moved into the bathroom. Took me three minutes to empty my bladder because the stream was interrupted from having a catheter in.

I threw up clear first, and once my stomach exhausted its contents, it started bringing up something green. Like my hair dye color green. That tasted horrible and it burnt my mouth.

That was still in the bathroom, and they had to get me a second barf bucket.

I have never been drunk, and I have never been hungover. But I think I experienced what both of those are. It was horrible. I felt the worst I’ve ever felt.

And it didn’t stop. I wheeled out to the car and threw up again. Had to roll the windows up so the passing people didn’t have to see it. I got to my mom’s stay and I went to bed for an hour. Woke up in pain and I had to pee again so my mom(a Saint) helped me out of bed and into the bathroom. I was only interrupted once , and I didn’t even care that the door was open. She just stayed there with me. She helped me put a new pad on (I was spotting) and get me to the sink. At this point I stood up way too fast (but it was slow) and started to lose hearing and my head got fuzzy so I had to hang onto the sink counter. Washed my hands. She brought me back to the king sized bed and we started watching Wednesday. I took a nauzene and that always helps. Haven’t thrown up since and that was around 4. It’s 10pm now. 12 hours since surgery. I took painkillers and now I’m high. I want to document everything so I can remember later.

I’ve been eating saltines and we went out to the balcony around 6pm and I was able to walk without vomiting. I was a little shaky all over. An hour later we went to Walmart. I was able to walk around, wearing a jacket , teeth chattering. I just drank a mug of hot chocolate and we’re about to eat some ratatouille.

The surgery was fine. What got me was the pre and post op. I was so cold and scared they couldn’t find my veins and the tourniquets they used (two on one arm at one time) were pinching and rubbing my skin raw. They had to use the baby vein finder on me. Then the cold IV fluid. Because it took them forever to get this running, and they told me at the beginning of putting me in this room, that it would be 90 minutes before I go back for the scalpel, it took twenty minutes before they started giving me the medication and I was being prepped for surgery.

If any writers follow me and see this, I am giving you permission to use it as a resource for young women being affected by anesthesia. Apparently it’s common for young afabs to be disproportionately affected by it when coming off.

[cactus-joke]

Lmao, yes, the latest Wolverine was pretty good, and the new Spindelmannen looks to be good too, but these assholes get like endless chances to get better movies if one or two are a flop like Wolfer Origins, meanwhile, all the untapped potential of female superheroes sits and stews in a swamp of misogynistic reluctance, and is brought up out of the swamp once in a blue moon, with horrible promotional material.

And we all know, unlike male centered films, female centered films cannot flop at all if we want more of them any time soon.

Fucking hell. Give me three different attempts at a Black Widow movie IMMEDIATELY RIGHT NOW YOU ALL GODDAMN ASSHOLES.

[shythesheep]

29 days whump challenge

challenge by @yuckwhump

Day 9: Car wreck II Starvation. CW: starvation, vomit, manipulation, creepy whumper, captive. 

Previous II Next

Dayle was drenched in sweat, and his breath is coated in a thick layer of foul-tasting spit. Has he been vomiting? There are no memories in his mind from yesterday’s banquet, well he does remember drinking cup of wine, but that is it. His head is hurting, and clutches him, turning onto his side to crumble into a small ball. He wants to kick the blanket off, it is warm and scratches his bare legs. He has never experienced this nauseating feeling before, it’s absolutely horrific, he prays to the gods that the king won’t want him playing today, the idea of him so much as putting the flute to his mouth makes him wince. Suddenly he feels a pull and his body heaves as liquid is forced up his throat and vomit splutters onto the side of the small cot, he his laying on. He takes a deep breath, still feeling as if some vomit might come up again, and it does. This time he expected the pain from the acid liquid burning his throat and nose, but none the less it made him shudder.

“A goddamn mut you are. I put a damn bucket on the other side but you still barfed all over the floor.” A guard without his amour is standing at the door, holding decanter with water and small clay mug. He sets it down quickly on a small stool before leaving the room. Dayle just looks at the direction he left with lazy eyes and his tongue slightly sticking out of his mouth. It tastes nasty. He glances over at the decanter, and makes a reach for it, but his arms are as heavy as stone and as soon as he has lifted the arm it plops down again by his side.

“Shit.” He mumbles and rubs his temples. He wriggles his body slightly, so he is turned to the other side, and the blanket ties itself tightly around his legs. He sees the bucket that the guard was talking about, he feels slightly bad about using the floor instead of it. But then he remembers his times in the warm chamber and all the times the guards would beat him senseless. Let him clean my vomit, he thinks, with all the intentions of not using the bucket.

“You look like a mess.” The guard grumbles as he enters the room with a bucket of soap water and a cloth. When he passes Dayle he scrunches his nose. “And you smell like it too.”

“Why thank you.” Whispers Dayle weakly, closing his eyes with a sigh.

The guard either didn’t hear him or chose not to reply. He is quick to wash the floor and as he gets up, he takes the bucket filled with now dirty water and puts it under Dayle’s head, which is laying a bit over the cot’s side.

“Oh, for gods’ sake.” Dayle screeches and flails to get away from the smell.

“Only fair that you smell it too.” Laughs the guard and removes the bucket, he places it in the corner of the small room and then he goes to fill the mug with water from the decanter. “Here, you need to drink.” The guard holds the mug out for Dayle to take. Dayle just stares at it, making no attempt at reaching for it. The guard's mouths twisted. “Listen, you need to drink. Otherwise you’ll dehydrate.”

“I don't think I can hold it without dropping it.” Dayle bites the inside of his cheek, his eyes never leaving the mug. The guard shook his head and open his mouth as if to say something but stopped. Dayle looks absolutely pitiful, his dark curls are plastered to his forehead with sweat and his blue eyes are distant and foggy. He is too pale for it to be healthy, and thin as well. The guard grunts before sitting down beside Dayle's body on the cot. Dayle attempts at getting further away but a firm hand on his shoulder stops him. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his mouth drawn in a thin line of anticipation. Recognition dawns on the guard's face, he has seen that expression of Dayle’s on many new recruits, after they have been roughhoused by older guards or knights. Why does a personal servant of the king expect a hit from a guard who just cleaned up his vomit?

“I'm not going to hit you, but you need water, so let me help you.”

“How can I be sure. You are a guard...”

“More the reason for you to believe me.”

“I think we have very different opinions on that.” Dayle snaps but turns pale as soon as the words left his mouth, he tries to hide his fear by scowling at guard.

“Gods be damned. Just let me help you drink the water.”

“It’s not poisoned or something, right?”

“Oh, for fucks sake. Just drink.” The guard reaches his hand behind Dayle’s head to help him lift his head and then tilts the mug slightly, and Dayle lets him, too thirsty to struggle, vivid memories of his dry throat in the warm room is still present in his mind.

“Thanks.” He says out of habit. The guard simply nods and then turns to leave.

“Someone will come and check on you in an hour so, get some shut eye.” He says and the bids his farewell.

Dayle tosses and turns on the cot. His body still exhausted and aching, after yesterday’s punishment and of course the alcohol. But other than his nausea, he is feeling more relaxed than he ever has while staying at the castle. There is still a nagging voice that reminds him that the king could turn up any minute and demand his presence for either showing him off to some noble or to just have him in private play his flute or other activities. Dayle whimpers and turns to hide his face in the pillow. His thoughts drift to Alard and the others, he has long ago come to terms with the fact that they probably aren’t coming for him, for even if they knew of his situation, how would they ever be able to get him out of this mess. A few musicians against a King with knights and guards, sounds like a tragic ballade to tell. Of course, he still has a lingering hope that pulls at him, makes his heart ache for the long travels in their small caravan, with Lily and Tom running beside it, playing tag like any restless kids would, laughing. Alard’s old man would sit in the back with his old mandolin and play for his wife, Freya who would in turn read out stories from the old book she always carries with. He misses Alard’s carefree attitude, how he always had a joke or a song to sing when things got gloom. How his hands would fit so perfectly in Dayle’s own, warm to his cold. Sun kissed to pale. Opposites but compatible. Dayle takes a shuddering breath, he cries.

No one comes to check on him, not that he minds an awfully lot, he is feeling rather vulnerable and his happy that no one is here to exploit it. But he is starting to feel an immense hunger, he can’t remember the last time he has gotten a meal, and his stomach has been emptied a long time ago with all his vomiting. He won’t die, sure, but it doesn’t make his situation any more comfortable. Maybe someone will come soon.

From what he has gathered by seeing the sun rise and fall outside his window, he has been left to his own demise for at least three days, someone has been refilling his water decanter while he has been asleep, but no food has been left behind, and his head is now almost constantly swimming and making him feel as if the world is shaking if he as much as dares to move. On top of that he feels as I his stomach is burning on the inside, as if has started to dissolve itself. At first when these burning sensations started, he also threw up. Only liquid but it still charred the inside of his throat and mouth, and he quickly learned that water doesn’t help erase a bad after taste. The water doesn’t even make him feel full, there is never enough. He has fits now and again, or at least that is what he calls them. It is periods of time where he just feels as if his whole body is vibrating, like he is containing a storm inside, a storm of hunger likely.

 “How are you feeling?” Dayle can barely move, he has a thundering headache and he just manages to moan at the person questioning him. A hand is laid on his stomach, as if is trying to feel how empty he is. No one beside himself can feel that though. “Dearest.” Dayle freezes and fear dawns on him, the man sitting gently on his cot, is his master. His master is here, that can’t bode well. With weak conviction he pushes his left arm on to his master’s arm, to remove it from his person. His master misunderstands the gesture, or maybe he doesn’t, and grabs Dayle’s hand in his. He holds it tightly, gives it a light kiss on the backside.

“Please… s- “

“shushshush. Don’t waste your energy. I brought something for you.” His master slips his hand and turns to the maid standing by the door, she comes over with a plate filled with different kinds of fruits and what looks to be a piece of bread at the size of a fist. Dayle is uncertain of what this is supposed to mean, is the food for him? Is his master going to give him food, or is it once again one of his sick tricks? “Why so glum, Dearest, I have brought you the finest fruit, freshly plucked from my gardens.”

“For me?” Dayle laughs groggily and feels like he is about to cry.

“Of course, it is for you!” his master grabs his head and kisses his forehead, Dayle flinches at the action. The king grabs a few red grapes, and holds them up to Dayle’s mouth, and forces two into it. Dayle scrunches his eyebrows but chews slowly on the juicy fruits. The taste is overwhelming, and he must have made a grimace for the king giggles. “Good boy,” he says and pulls out Dayle’s flute, it had been hiding under the kings red jacket, sitting in his belt. “But now as a good boy, you need to earn your food.” He lays the flute into Dayle’s slack hand and makes Dayle’s fingers close around the instrument. “play me a small tune.” Dayle glares at the wretched thing in his hand but starts playing on it. He chooses to play a short piece, but he is still out of breath when he finishes off. A fog has been laid in his mind, and he grabs at the blanket to stabilize himself. “You truly are a good boy, Dearest, here.” His master takes the flute, and, in its stead, he puts the piece of bread. Dayle is about to bite into the bread, when he has finally gotten his breath back, but a hand clamps down on his mouth.

“You’ve forgotten something Dearest.” With wide round eyes, Dayle looks up at his master and a knot is tied around his throat. What has he forgotten? His muddled mind searches in desperation for something, but he can’t seem to find anything. He played the flute. He ate off of his master’s hand. What could he possibly have forgotten?

“A polite thank you master would suffice. Don’t you think so dearest?” Dayle nods weakly, and the hand is removed from his mouth.

“I apo- apologize master…” he takes a deep inhale. “Thank y-you for the food, ma…master.” He forces the sentences out, feeling dirty as they are spoken out loud.

“Anything for you Dearest.” His master replies, and as Dayle eats he starts to talk about what have been going on around court, as if Dayle is an equal and not just a toy for his amusement. Dayle listens as he eats, although he isn’t really listening, for he cannot seem to concentrate.

[sophie-the-shipper]

Karma

Read on:

Archive Of Our Own Fanfiction.net

or:

Word Count: 1813 Summary: Jonah is sick. Parker is there too. Amy takes care of people. Karma is a funny thing. Disclaimer: I don't own Superstore or the characters.

Amy is walking around the store when she Dina walking towards her with a determined step, which made Amy stop and wait for Dina to catch up to her.

"Hey, do you think you can pay attention to your hubby over there before he makes everyone sick too, please?" She says and then continues to walk away, making Amy stand in the middle of the way not understand what just happens.

She starts to search for Jonah, finding him stocking cereals. Even from afar, he does look a little... different. His skin is paler, he looks tired, and he seems to barely be able to stand up. As she approaches him, she sees him close his eyes for a moment, but he then startles himself and continues to restock the shelves.

"Are you feeling okay?" Amy asks once she's near him.

"Yeah, why do you ask?" His voice is hoarse, he's clearly with a running nose, and he seems like he'll fall at any moment.

"Uhm, nothing. It's just you don't seem yourself today. What's going on?" She's trying to play it cool, make him understand for himself that he's sick and he should go home.

"Nothing. Just restocking this here." He continues to place the cereals in its place, and Amy just sighs. She puts a hand on his forehead, but only for a moment, because Jonah blocks her hand. But it was enough to know one thing.

"You're burning up."

"I need to work, we're understaffed. I can't go home." He continues to do his job, but with every passing moment, he seems to go more to the other side.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jonah. If you don't want to go home, fine, don't go home. But you're not working. Go to the break room and close your eyes for a minute. I'll be right there."

"You're overreacting. I'm fine!" He says, walking away.

When she gets there not even five minutes later, he's already asleep on the couch. She smiles, mostly because she was right, but also because he did look adorable when he was lying down. His usually neat hair was now flying in all directions, making her laugh softly at how weird it was at the beginning of their relationship to wake up and see him without his hair all neat like he usually had it.

Amy goes to the break room to check on him every five minutes – she had a timer and everything – to see if his temperature was going down. After half an hour goes by, she decides to just take him home. She wasn't getting any work done either way, why even bother to stay there? At least while they were home, he would be warm and cozy in their bed.

She wakes him up and takes him to the car, where he falls asleep. Amy had to wake him up again once they got home, and once they were in their bedroom, he changed into some pajamas to be more comfortable and slide into the bed.

"Thanks for taking care of me." He said and rolled over on the bed, pushing the covers to himself, seeking their warmth and comfort.

He slept for a few hours, and Amy continued to check his temperature that was going down. Adam left Parker at the house because he had to go to work, and the boy was playing in his bedroom quietly not to wake up Jonah.

One of the times Amy went to check up on Jonah, he was awake.

"How are you feeling?" She asked him, lying down next to him on the bed.

"Better. I guess I just needed to sleep a little bit."

"Great. Now, you0re going to eat some soup, drink lots of water and then maybe in a couple of days I'll allow you to go to work." She smiles at him because he seemed surprised when she told him he wouldn't go to work the next day.

"Momma?" A voice is heard, making both Jonah and Amy immediately look to where the sound came from. Five-year-old Parker if there, holding his comforter with one hand and a teddy bear in the other. "My head hurt."

Samy smile at her son and gets yup. Her hands reach for his forehead. "Yep, it's a little hot. You're going to bed."

"Can I stay with daddy?" Amy smiles once again and grabs her son, placing him next to her husband without even answering. After all, actions speak louder than words, right?

Later, she finds both snuggled up together, the TV on showing some cartoons but both of them asleep- Shutting the TV off, Amy can only be thankful it didn't work without anyone else.

(And also be thankful that Parker was able to Jonah of daddy. To him, Jonah was never "Mom's friend" like it was when Emma caught them home together – even though Emma already thought they were together after the whole broadcasted around the world sex tape of theirs.

Parker was proud of having one mom and two dads. Made him happy to have three people that were his parents – and he made two gifts for father'0s day because of that.

And she loved the fact that her son called Jonah of daddy, because of her husband's face light up when he called him that – even when he was sick.)

A few days later, they were both feeling better. But before that happened, there were a lot of sweet moments between the three of them.

(Could've been four, but as soon as Emma opened the door and was greeted by two coughs coming from her stepdad, a zombie mom that seemed to being sick herself and a "Uhm" from her little brother that was lying on the floor because it was cold,she ran off to buy medication and soup, and then left forever not wanting to get sick herself – with the excuse that was maybe true that she had a presentation in a few days.)

For example, there was now one bucket that was marked with a permanent pen with the words "barf bucket". It was shared by the two sick children Amy was taking care of, that decided to both start to get a stomach bug at the same time. It was good because that way they were both sitting down on the living room couch together, having to share the bucket because there wasn't other and Amy couldn't leave the house with them and especially without them.

They would crawl away to other places of the house. Parker would do it because he kept saying he wasn't truly sick – even though he was. Jonah would do it because his fever was getting higher, which made him delusional. For a moment, Jonah went outside without Amy noticing and turn the hose on, filled up a tiny poll in the backyard – that was meant for Parker – and pretended to be a lifeguard. It happened later too, but that time it was in the bathtub and he was saving Parker.

Once, coming back from the kitchen with two glasses of water when she heard an exchange of words between the two sick people in the living room couch.

"Please don't puke on me," Parker says, and then she hears the sound of someone grabbing the bucket. She continues to walk towards the living room, and a few moments later, Amy's already close enough to also see them.

"I make absolutely no promises." Her husband says, with the bucket on top of his legs and his arms around it.

In those days, it was normal to find Jonah and/or Parker sleeping in places that weren't their bed or the couch. She once found Parker asleep on a doorstep hugging the handrail; Jonah feels asleep with his head on a chair, his body on a table, and part of his legs dangling on the side of the table. She had no idea of how he even got in that position, and felt bad for waking him up, especially when he fell on the ground with a big thump, instantly complaining that his head hurt – and not (only) because of his fever.

And once those days of sickness were over, and the days went on to the routine they usually were, Jonah was being extra sweet to Amy, which made her suspicious – not in a "Is he cheating on me" kind of suspicion, more like "why is he being so nice to me?".

One day, she gathers the "courage" to ask him about it. They are both watching TV in the living room when she asks him. What he tells her makes her smile and her heart swell of happiness.

"You're too good for this world." He looks at her with a sweet smile that almost matches hers. "You took care of me and Parker, allowed the store to go almost a week without a manager because we were sick. I'm sure it was chaos there for those days, but you didn't care."

"Family's more important than work, Jonah."

"I know." He kisses her on the cheek and places his head on her shoulder. "Still. I guess I'm just trying to make it up to you for those days where I wasn't myself. I don't think I'm an easy patient."

"You're a very stubborn patient. And worse than that, I think Parker is learning that too. I blame you." She chuckles, whilst Jonah just shakes his head with a smile on his lips.

A few moments later, Emma opens the door and enters, finding them both snuggled up of the couch.

"Am I interrupting something?" She asks, placing her backpack on the floor.

"No," Amy answers and then pauses the TV. "We need to talk, though."

Emma starts to freak out, and it's noticeable that the wheels in her brain are spinning, thinking of what she might'0ve done. She comes up with nothing.

"What's wrong?"

"You saw your family sick and just left? That's not the way I raised you, young lady!" She sounds mad, but deep down she understands why her daughter did what she did. There was no use for her to get sick too.

Amy sees her daughter blushes for a moment, before bowing her head. "Sorry, mom. I don't like sick people."

"No one likes sick people," Jonah mentions, silently, but loud enough to be heard.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't stay in the house for a long-" Emma starts, but gets interrupted by herself. "Achoo!"

Jonah gets up in a hurry when Emma sneezes, running away from her. "Not getting sick again, Emma. Not again!"

Amy just rolls her eyes and gives her a tissue.

"Karma?" Emma says, in the form of a question. Amy just shrugs. Thye both hear Jonah and Parker's footsteps running and closing a door, which makes both women laugh. And then Emma sneezes again.

The End

[gayerluke]

tw vomit & emetophobia 

yeah so last night at work i was feeling really antsy & agitated, so i asked to go home around 2:30am. went to sleep & woke up around 6am feeling really panicked & uncomfortable in a very nonspecific way. took a benzo but it didn’t do anything, which is unusual. yesterday i took adderal + claritin + had some grapefruit soda (i knowww, i’m on too many meds that interact with grapefruit so i usually avoid it but i’ve had it before without problems) so i thought maybe i was having a bad med interaction. so i just squirmed around in bed crying until around 7am when my lovely body decided it was time to rid ourselves of this feeling by barfing it all up. threw up like 10 times, though some of them i induced bc i wanted the hell-contents out of me as quickly as possible. i was mainly just spewing endless amounts of liquid into a bucket i bought at lowe’s kjsgfjd. my mouth was getting super dry & i could tell i was getting horribly dehydrated, but my body was really weak & having trouble even holding up my water bottle to drink. i was really panicked bc of course i’m all alone here & i very rarely get vomity-sick, so i called my mom to cry at her over the phone & make her worry.

i was getting dizzy & weaker & i knew i wasn’t going to be able to hydrate myself back to homeostasis, so i ordered a lyft to take me to the ER. i proceeded to be a big baby & whine a lot bc i was sick & scared & really dizzy & my little brain wasn’t moist enough to pretend to be a mature adult. my abdomen was also really painful & bloated so my breathing was fast. i didn’t have to wait terribly long & they brought me back in a wheelchair & stuck me with an IV & gave me zofran (antinausea) & fluids. i immediately fell asleep bc tbh all i wanted was to go somewhere & take a nap while under the supervision of responsible adults. they ended up loading me up with 2L of fluid. idk what tests they even ran bc i was literally just asleep or out of it the whole time, but after a few hours the doc said it was likely just a viral gastroenteritis (classic stomach flu). my immune system is usually a champ & i’m actually pretty neurotic about hand-washing so i’m surprised that happened to me, but yknow i interact with a lot of people who interact with a lot of other people. we did have a dog with possible leptospirosis in clinic last night so i thought at first it might be that, but that has a longer incubation than just 12 hours. wouldn’t that be wild though.

took a lyft home & went back to sleep feeling much better, though i’m having bad muscle aches in my legs. i'm trying to go pick up my zofran prescription + some bland foods but i’m not sure i’m strong enough to be driving yet.

anyway thanks for listening to me be dramatic for once