#cw vomiting

[the-kr8tor]

back to back requests, if you are okay with that. r finding out that she’s pregnant, and then hobie finding out? or maybe they both find out at the same time? up to you!!

Another banger request, bestie! Thank you 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW vomiting, description of illness, pregnancy talk, Billie and Ramona AU, Dad! Hobie, Mom! Reader, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The portal opens in the living room, from the force of it opening has the boat rocking in the stagnant water. the sounds of your trinkets falling and crashing on the floor has Peter B. Cringing, while Mayday giggles excitedly in his arms. MJ follows close behind, all dressed up and pretty for their anniversary. The portal closes behind her in a mechanical sound.

“Hobie! Y/N?” Peter yells across the small space.

Mayday babbles to what sounds like your names. She tries to escape from her father's hold, kicking and squealing excitedly.

“Maybe they're still asleep?” MJ looks behind the kitchen island, she shrugs, having no idea where you or Hobie are.

Meanwhile, Mayday escapes, crawling across the floors. Upon your request, Peter took off Mayday's web shooters because in their last visit, well, the toddler almost gave you a heart attack.

Peter scratches his head, eyes flicking towards the closed bedroom door. “Do you think they're, you know?” he asks his wife with a slight whisper, wiggling his eyebrows.

MJ side glances, “Come on, really, Pete?”

Mayday points at the bathroom further down the hallway, Peter's enhanced hearing picks up retching and dry heaving inside the closed bathroom, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls.

He picks up Mayday, cradling her head. Looks like date night is postponed when the only person who volunteered to babysit Mayday is sick.

“Everything alright in there?” he knocks softly on the door.

The living room window slides open and out jumps Hobie holding onto a brown paper bag.

“You're early, hey MJ.” He says nonchalantly.

“Hi, Hobie, is she okay?” MJ grimaces after another round of retching continues inside the bathroom.

“Dude,” Peter makes way for Hobie to enter the small hallway. “Is she sick? You know I can't drop Mayday off while there's some sort of infection happening in here–” he gets a thwack upside the head from his wife.

“She's fine” Hobie says it to the couple but it's more of a reassurance for himself. “We both think she ate something bad a few days ago and she's been like this every morning.” He knocks twice on the door.

MJ looks like she's thinking.

Your pained muffled voice echoes out. “I'll be out in a minute, sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, love. I've got your meds, yeah? Come out so you can drink it” he says through the door.

With a click of the doorknob, you reveal yourself to the party in Hobie's jumper and a very old sweatpants hanging on your hip. Your eyes are flushed, sniffing to hell and back.

“Hi, sorry I don't think we can take care of Mayday today.” You say dejectedly, eyes forlorn as you look at the toddler who's equally devastated to hear the news.

“Aww man but we've got reservations–” MJ slaps Peter upside the head again.

Hobie helps you walk with his arms wrapped around your shoulders, thumb massaging comfortingly. He whispers to you. “How do you feel?”

“I feel like my stomach is doing somersaults.” You groggily say. Hobie sits you down on the settee, handing you a water bottle and medicine.

“Y/N, sweetheart, when was the last time you had your period?” You almost did a spit take when MJ asked you the question.

“Honey, what the he–cow” Peter fumbles, realizing that his daughter's still in his arms, watching him with her big eyes.

Hobie looks at you with wide eyes, slowly realizing something. You ate the same thing he eats everyday so why are you the only one with the stomach bug?

“Uh I'm late this month…” you side eye Hobie who looks like he's about to vomit right there and then. “Why? I'm probably just stressed and…” MJ gives you a soft look.

“Are you fatigued?” MJ softly asks, you nod while Hobie observes you and you only. “Any tenderness in the chest” you nod again. Hobie flicks his eyes down to your stomach. “Y/N, darling.” She smiles at you and Hobie, Peter gives you two the most awkward thumbs up. Mayday copies her dad, nodding along.

You chuckle nervously, facing Hobie, your bottom lip wobbling.

“Y/N” Hobie looks at you with glistening eyes. “Love, I think I should swing by the chemist again.” He holds your hand affectionately, eyes never leaving yours as a smile spreads across his face.

Peter's spidey senses warn him, covering Mayday's ears in one quick dad movement.

“Holy shit! Am I pregnant?!” you screech.

One agonizing fifteen minutes later, two lines appear on the small plastic stick, confirming MJ’s suspicion. Hobie was with you the entire time, holding your hand, caressing your back as he whispers ‘I love yous’ in your ear. You know you and the baby will be okay.

[chaoticnoisy]

WHAT THE HECK, BOY. THIS IS KIND OF SAD

[zedif-y]

“Before you yell at me,” Impulse says. “I want to at least say that I know this was a bad idea.”

On the other side of the room, Bdubs shifts in bed, sniffling as he battles a runny nose. Pearl sighs.

“You see how that actually makes it worse, right?” She replies. There’s a faint crackle on her end, her breath picked up by the phone– “Impulse, you need to leave.” 

Impulse grimaces. He feels Bdubs’ stare against his back, “I…”

“You know why you can’t stay there,” Pearl tells him. Her voice is even, but the words drag him down like weights. “Impulse–”

He bites the inside of his cheek, “I can’t.”

Pearl goes quiet for a moment. 

Impulse can almost picture her expression– jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed in worry. A quiet sadness in her eyes as she takes him in. Not a hint of judgement– yet somehow that almost chokes him even more.

Then, “Why not?”

Impulse swallows. He shifts on his feet, focuses on the feel of the soft carpet. (It’s old, the color mostly faded. Impulse remembers installing it– a hot summer day, around two years ago. It feels like a lifetime has passed since.) “It’s just…”

(Bdubs’ voice, raspy and weak, “Can you come over?”)

“He’s sick,” Impulse whispers, eyes downcast. “Nothing too bad, I think, but it’s– he called me, and he said he needed me and I… You know that I…” 

(Impulse had just gotten home, then, exhaustion burning in his bones. But even then he takes a peek out the window, looks on as the pale grey of the afternoon seeps into night. His mouth thins into a line.)

(“Bdubs, I–”)

(“Please,” Comes the hoarse reply. “I miss you.”)

Impulse’s chest constricts. You know I can’t say no to that, he wants to say, the words burning like acid on his throat. I can’t. I want to, I need to, but I can’t.

(There’s a beat, a heavy pause. Impulse tries to remember how to breathe.)

(“…Give me a few hours.”)

Not when it’s him.

Impulse drags a hand down his face, his voice hushed as he speaks into his phone. “Pearl, I know you’re trying to help, but…” He turns to look at Bdubs. Reddened eyes stare back at him, just that little bit hazy. Impulse bites the inside of his cheek. “I need to be here. I need to stay.”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Pearl replies. “You said you wouldn't…"

I know, “…Yeah, I did," Impulse sits down next to Bdubs, the bed dipping under his weight. He places the back of his hand on Bdubs' forehead, feeling the heat seep instantly into his skin. He tsks under his breath.

Bdubs lets out a small sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. Impulse tries to ignore how his heart squeezes at that, licks his lips as he heads back out of the room. The door clicks shut behind him.

"...Impulse?" Pearl asks, "You still there?"

He breathes in, breathes out.

"Still here," He mutters. 

At his silence, Pearl speaks up. 

“Impulse,” She says, voice soft. “Are you okay?”

Impulse looks out at the living room, the windows casting light over the worn sofa. His things packed neatly in a bag. His own knick knacks strewn about the shelves. There's a lump in Impulse's throat, and it won't go away.

“I don’t know,” He tells her, the truth of it aching. “I don’t know, Pearl.”

There’s rustling on the other end, a faint hum of music in the background. Impulse doesn’t know how long it’s been playing.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” Pearl asks, and Impulse knows she means it. Knows that he could say yes, and she would be here within the hour, providing company despite her hectic schedule. Impulse knows.

(And yet.)

For a few moments, Impulse doesn’t say anything. He moves closer to the windows, feels the warmth of the sunlight on the back of his hand.

Not for the first time, his gaze drifts to his finger– a small band of lightened skin, a whisper of a ring.

"I'll leave when he's recovered," Impulse says at last. "I promise."

Even to his own ears, it sounds like a lie.

—

“Bein’ shick is the worst,” Bdubs groans. He grabs his handkerchief, blows his nose loud– “Guh, good grief.”

“Drink your water, Bdubs!” Impulse calls out from the kitchen. The bedroom door, now open, gives Bdubs a decent view of him, chopping up… Somethin’, and then adding them to a pot. Bdubs makes a noise in response, half grumble half yeah, yeah, I know. 

He mutters under his breath, “Can’t even smell the food…”

His hands are clammy as he reaches for his water bottle, drinking in greedy mouthfuls as the liquid soothes his throat a little. He sniffs, again, another groan on his lips as his head swims– like he’s swaying even if he’s just sitting down, a godawful heat just under his skin. His blanket, already shoved to the side, is kicked away even further.

Bdubs breathes out through his mouth, his throat raspy and dry even though he just–

“I hate this,” He seethes, eyes shut tight and head spinning and nose running, goodness sakes– “I…”

A wave of nausea rolls over him like the tide. Bile rushes into his throat, his muscles seizing as he rasps out, “Impulse!”

There’s some clattering from the kitchen, the click of a stove. “What?” Impulse asks, rushing into the room. He’s still wearing his apron. “What’s wrong?”

Worry shines on his face, etched into the lines of it. If Bdubs weren’t about to puke his guts out, he’d be starin’ a lot more–

“Bathroom,” Bdubs rasps out, acid burning his throat, his eyes stinging with tears–

Impulse heaves him out of bed with a grunt. Bdubs goes limp in his grasp, fighting head-swimming nausea that makes his vision all weird as Impulse rushes him to the bathroom, gently sets him on the floor–

“Hurgk!”

Bdubs’ eyes sting as he hurls, his chest heaving as he’s hunched over the rim of the toilet. A burning sourness coats his tongue, scratching against his throat. His knees protest against the cool tiles. Everything in him aches as he coughs violently, his hands shaking as he balances himself–

Big, gentle hands push his hair away from his face, soothing his trembling back. Bdubs sobs, spit dripping from his lips as everything hits him all at once, every pinprick of pain and the shivering cold and mind-numbing heat–

“I’ve got you,” He hears Impulse say, the words drifting just at the edge of his mind. “I’ve got you, Bdubs.”

Always.

Bdubs coughs, shakes like a leaf as he heaves over the bowl. His mind feels fuzzy, face damp with tears and sweat. Something desperate claws at his chest, comes bubbling out as a real sob as he says, “Yer too good to me,” He sniffles, feels the hands adjusting in his hair. “You’re too…”

His muscles seize, another surge of bile. Bdubs grips the edge of the bowl, eyes shut tight through the roiling pain, and he forgets whatever the hell it was that he was going to say.

He doesn’t notice Impulse going quiet. He doesn’t notice the faraway look in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches as he looks at Bdubs’ face.

He doesn’t notice the way Impulse looks like he agrees.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

EPISODE 2 AND 3 HAVE BEEN SOOOO FUN im already so emotionally attached to each of these characters.. if anything bad ever happens to any of them im killing everyone and then everyone.

[sauron-kraut]

Plaything

Quick double drabble for Ar-Pharazôn/Mairon:

For once Mairon finds himself in a situation where he is not in full control as he resides in Númenor as Ar-Pharazôn's prisoner, advisor and, well, plaything.

Warnings: vomiting, alcohol consumption, non-consensual touching

I needed Mairon to suffer, it's been too long. Will explore this dynamic in a longer fic that's been sitting in my docs later.

As always this would not exist without the conversations between @lvsifer and me.

Mairon rushes through the hallways, the heels of his boots clicking in quick desperate succession. He crashes into his chambers like a raging firestorm and slams the door shut behind him.

The Maia leans against it and breathes harshly before sinking to his knees, holding himself up with one slender hand as he notices he is still holding his glass of wine in the other. 

Some of it has spilled on his robes.

Mairon is drunk. 

He asks himself if this time he might have bitten off more than he can chew.

So alone, he is so alone in this land.

The seduction had worked even better than he had intended.

The king can’t keep his fingers off his trophy prisoner.

Mairon wants it to stop.

His hand on Mairon’s thigh when he sits next to him at the banquet. His hand on the small of Mairon’s back, wandering lower shamelessly. The smugness with which he is told to come sit on the king’s lap for all to see.

And Mairon opening his legs for him in the dark.

At least he gets told he is beautiful.

Disgust rolls through his body.

Mairon throws up on the cold stone floor.

[opal16trash]

Mario Movie spoilers

/

/

/

Made a "Mario hating mushrooms" comp cause I need this

Also I will def make more comps now that I have the movie in good quality

[analexthatexists]

April 15th. You know what that means.

Oh right, forgot to draw his vials. Hang on...

okay, so his vials actually aren't in a rainbow pattern like i thought...interesting... okay...Ah, got it.

Alright, sorry about that, back to- WHAT THE-

INK WHAT THE HECK!? WHY'D YOU TAKE THAT BIG OF A BITE!?

(AND WHY DID YOU EAT THE CAKE LIKE THAT!?)

Probably should of given him a fork or something...

[minty-frost]

"Poison Mushroom Cookie! Good little cookies don't put shroomies in others's food! Now we'll have to get him to a healer again!"

[waywardstation]

Strong-Armed

Ingo attempts to secure third place in an arm-wrestling competition to help Akari win a prize, all while struggling with his own nausea.

[SEQUEL TO FESTIVAL PRIZES] I wrote this because I got several requests to continue this one; people wanted to see Ingo arm-wrestle, and if he could make it to his goal! Please read the first part if you haven't yet, otherwise this one won't make much sense!

OR read here on AO3!

enjoy!

————

This was probably a bad idea. 

The unfavorable churning under Ingo’s ribcage told him as much, but he couldn’t tell if it was from flaring nausea or anxious nerves. Probably both. 

His frown pulled down as Akari, Powder, and himself stood amongst the crowd, watching participants make their ways to the various tables and benches that had been set up in a row along the shopping strip. Choy, overseeing the competition, had just finished announcing the rules and directed competitors to their tables. most of it had been dull buzzing in Ingo’s ears.

Thirty-two. Thirty-two people had joined the event. Between Jubilife’s residents, both clans, and the ginkgo guild, perhaps it was a relatively small number. Some might have been goaded into joining simply to even out the brackets, but on its own, that was a lot of people.

“Oooh,” Akari had hissed through her teeth after Ingo had registered his name at the booth and relayed the number to her. “That’s, uh…” She had attempted to visualize brackets in her mind, but quickly devolved to counting and organizing numbers with her fingers.

“...Five rounds.” He had helped her with her math, after about ten seconds of counting fingers.

“That means you only have to get to the fourth one, though!” Akari had quickly tried to reassure him. “And out of those, you only have to win three! It should be easy! I mean, as long as you don’t pair up with Zisu or Gaeric early…”

“Or warden Iscan.” Ingo had added. “I noticed his name amongst the list of other participants.”

“Well… I think you could still beat him, even if you don’t feel well. Do you feel any better, by the way?”

Another bout of nausea upset his insides. Ingo had assured her his cab was operational enough to compete, but he was beginning to question that. Though, would he possibly tell her otherwise? How could he back out after agreeing to do this, and getting her hopes up?

“I did not anticipate the station would be so crowded…” Ingo made his way over to his designated table, still empty - his opponent was not there yet. So many spectators were boxing the row of tables in; there hadn’t been this many people observing the mochi-eating contest, and certainly not at Lavneton’s quiz competition.

“Well, it is the last contest of the night,” Akari rationalized as she followed Ingo to the table, Powder still clinging to her shoulder. She began glancing around, as if trying to spot Ingo’s first opponent. “This is probably the last big event to watch.”

Oh great. Everyone would be here to witness him potentially get sick. Ingo imagined that would not exactly be a kid-friendly sight; he groaned quietly at the horrific thought.

“You got this, Ingo. I really appreciate you’re doing this for me,” Akari patted him - an alternative, as she knew better than to hug him in his current state - and moved to linger nearby at the edge of the crowd and watch. Powder chirped enthusiastically, waving her claws at him all the while. “But please don’t push too hard!”

Ingo grimaced as he went to sit down and pull his bench in behind him. He realized he couldn’t even lean forward comfortably without experiencing a fresh wave of nausea; the end of the table pressed into his already-upset stomach if he did so. And he was beginning to sweat irrationally, he noticed.

This was not good. A glance down either side of the row, and no one else from the mochi-eating competition could be seen sitting at any of the tables. And why would they participate? Who in their right mind would decide to cram themselves with potato mochi to the point of nausea, right before engaging in an arm wrestling competition?

Ingo leaned back as he experimentally stretched his fingers and wrist, testing the muscles and ligaments in his arm. He hadn’t exactly arm wrestled anyone since before he had become a warden, back when he resided at the Pearl Settlement - Gaeric always insisted on doing them with him.

Lord Avalugg’s warden had always beaten him, and he assumed that would not change now - only another reason to hope he would not pair up with the man before the third round. Ingo just hoped that his somewhat-constant workouts with Zisu and his casual mountainous trekking would be enough to carry him through with any other opponents. And if not that, perhaps techniques he had learned from Gaeric would give him an advantage.

But above all, Ingo just wished this would go by quickly, and smoothly. At the moment, he wanted to do nothing more than go back to Lady Snealser’s den, lie down, and sleep off the nausea.

————

Peren, a diamond clan member, was Ingo’s first opponent.

The young man had sat down and introduced himself as soon as he had found the table. Ingo paid attention to Peren’s words intently, so as to keep from focusing on the uncomfortable, nauseating sensation that made him keep tugging on the neck of his tunic. 

Peren was modest - a little too modest, perhaps. Choy called out a countdown, and opponents clasped their hands together, elbows sturdy against the tables. Ingo noted the hesitant looseness in Peren’s muscles within his grip. It shouldn’t have been like that, right? He recalled Gaeric had once said that would kill the match before it could even begin.

“Ready!” Choy called out above the festival bustle. “Good luck,” Peren genuinely seemed confident in himself as his eyes focused entirely on their grip.

“Three… two… one…”

“Likewise, sir.” Ingo extended, trying to pull his focus off the churning in his stomach.

“Start!”

The muscles in Ingo’s arm stiffened as soon as Choy called out the word, immediately putting Peren at a disadvantage as he leaned into it. Arm at a slant, Ingo was already over halfway there without having to even exert himself, or try any techniques. The Diamond Clan member had definitely been too loose with his arm at the start.

“Woah!” Peren had exclaimed, clearly shocked; arm shaking with the strain of keeping that small sliver between his arm and the table from closing any further, Ingo could see he realized his mistake. No matter, though. He could end this round within seconds of it starting. All he had to do was press against Peren’s arm a little more, and-

An unanticipated wave of tight pain flared up as Peren’s wrist was pinned down the rest of the way against the table. Ingo’s mind temporarily severed focus with his vision out of sheer surprise, and the accumulated momentum was the only thing that assisted him in his win when his sense of balance faltered.

“Break!” Choy called out ten seconds later, ten seconds that Ingo had been unaware had passed.

“Ingo!” Akari called off to the side, over the cheering and clapping of the crowd that rose up at his win. The warden was holding his stomach with one hand, the other loosely clasped over his mouth. “You good?”

He was not good. That final push had only squeezed his already-upset stomach. That was not good.

Ingo wiped at the accumulating sweat on neck and took a deep breath, forcing the queasiness back down - it only surprised him. It was manageable for now. Doing it for those last two tokens. Doing it for Akari…Stay on track.

He gave Akari and Powder the most unsure, wobbly thumbs up they had ever seen him make.

Kana was Ingo’s second opponent, he realized as he was directed to a table she was already sitting at. 

While intensely thankful it wasn’t Gaeric, Zisu, or Iscan, he was sure their interaction wouldn’t exactly be pleasant.

Too focused on willing his stomach to settle, Ingo didn’t have the capacity to keep his frown from pulling into more of a miserable grimace as he carefully set himself down on the bench across from her. Except for a muttered ‘wow’, the survey corps member said nothing throughout his cautious process, but he could feel her gaze visually assessing him the entire time.

“You look a little green.” She finally commented when he had settled, preemptively placing one of her elbows on the table. “Shameful, this is a family event, Ingo; how much sake have you had? ”

“Just four plates’ worth of potato mochi… ma’am.” Ingo corrected her, said mochi practically in his throat as he moved one of his arms to begrudgingly lock a clammy hand with hers on the table.

“Hey, whatever helps me get those last few tokens I need.” She offhandedly commented, and Ingo almost missed the implication that she was after the same prize Akari was. Did she think his state would give her an advantage? 

Well, when Choy announced the start and they began their match, he realized she hadn’t been entirely wrong.

With a chunk of the previous competition having been eliminated, a fair amount of people in the crowd were paying attention to their match. Kana had quickly fallen into a disadvantageous position, but it wasn’t as substantial as Ingo felt it should have been, and she was straining against Ingo’s wrist as she struggled to get it past the halfway point. Ingo held his own well enough, the muscles in his arm holding tight, but he was dreading that final movement needed to pin her wrist down - he could already tell it would need more force this time. 

All things considered, Kana was putting up a bit more of a fight than Peren did. Ingo didn’t know if it was because she was simply stronger than he had anticipated, or if his own strength was being sapped by cramps. Probably a bit of both. 

“Oh come on-!” Kana pressed against his wrist, forced into defense rather than offense as she simply tried to keep Ingo’s arm from progressing. If Ingo had learned correctly from Gaeric, she was not using the right techniques. She’d probably be doing better if she would try to twist his arm with hers into a pull, rather than trying to simply push it down.

But she was not, and Ingo obviously would not correct her. Steadily, his arm was gaining traction against hers. 

“This isn’t a fair match-!” Kana seemed to have preemptively decided she’d lost already, despite still trying her hardest. “Your hand’s too sweaty, I can’t get a grip-!”

It was not a fair match at all, Ingo agreed as nausea continued to bother his insides.

“G-genuinely apologize for that-” Was all he could get out instead. He was only delaying the inevitable, really. But still, he had to do it. Ingo bit the inside of his cheek, and heaved his arm down. Once again, another painful wave of nausea was rewarded with Kana’s hand unwillingly hitting the tabletop, and her subsequent shout of frustration.

“Break!” Choy called out.

Ingo slumped against the table as best he comfortably could while Kana stood up, arms crossed almost indignantly. 

“I’ll just… get whatever tokens I need left from Miki,” She pressed back into the crowd to presumably find the aforementioned friend, like that solution canceled out her loss. Ingo didn’t even respond to it, she was so quick to leave.

Besides, he was more focused on what lay ahead. One more. He had already won two rounds. One more, and he would be one of two people to earn third place and get Akari those last two tokens, so she’d have the twenty-five she needed in order to…

…Ohh, the numbers. That was a lot of numbers. They were making his head spin. Why were they doing that? The table felt like it was starting to tilt. The festival atmosphere was beginning to buzz. Somewhere, he thought he heard Melli arguing about something. Why-? Ingo hiccuped around a bubble of nausea. 

“Ingo, are you ok?” Akari broke away from the crowd to approach him as he wrapped his arms around his middle. He didn’t realize she had a cup of water with her until she gently took it from Powder’s tiny claws, and held it out to him. “You don’t… you look kind of pale.” And sweaty. Really sweaty. “How’s your stomach?”

“If it could say something, I’m sure it would be, ugh… swearing right now.” Ingo gratefully took the water and sipped it down slowly, trying to cool some of the sickly warm nausea that had migrated up into his chest.

“You don’t have to do this for me if you can’t,” Akari took back the empty water cup as he set it on the table. “It’s ok; I know I kinda pushed you to do this, but if it’s too much, I don’t need the comet shard-”

But you want it. I can tell. And, I told you I would do my best.

“One more round as scheduled, Miss Akari. The tracks could be smoother, but they are still operational.” Ingo told her. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel guilty over this, when he was doing it voluntarily. And besides, he was too close to the fourth round to stop now. They had been working towards this all night, how could they possibly give up now, when the final stop was so close? “I will stay on track until the final stop, just as planned. Then, I can rest my cab.” 

Ingo had hoped his words would encourage her. But rather than softening at his reassurance, Akari’s concerned look instead doubled. He was worried she didn’t believe him strong enough to continue, until he realized she was staring past him.

Ingo turned his head to follow her gaze, and the mochi flip-flopped sickeningly under his ribs when Commander Kamado approached the table and sat down across from him, bench creaking.

His next opponent.

“Commander Kamado, Sir-” Ingo barely processed Akari whispering ‘good luck’ to him as she pat him on the shoulder, shuffling back into the crowd with Powder.

“Well, Warden Ingo, I didn’t expect you to be participating in another competition so soon after that last one.” Kamado leaned forward against the table, but he didn’t extend his arm out yet.

“My tracks were just as unexpected to me, I admit,” Ingo’s queasy voice could not match the commander’s energy, despite his efforts. He glanced down the rows of tables on either side of him, trying to get an idea of who was left. Among the six other contenders still participating, Zisu and Gaeric were present, but Iscan was not. 

Ingo shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Kamado had beat Iscan, the Diamond Clan’s best. That’s probably why he had heard Melli shouting earlier - he couldn’t gloat about Diamond Clan’s dominance now, could he? 

And this man practiced sumo. What chance did he hope to have, then?

…But reframing the situation, Kamado had gone against Iscan. Taking Lord Basculegion’s warden down would have been no easy feat. Surely, Ingo could only hope Iscan had tired Kamado out for him. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Hmm?” Ingo blinked away the statistics to focus back on Kamado.

“You appear to be a little unwell,” The commander clarified, looking a little concerned now that he could see the state of his opponent. “Are you sure you’re able to compete?” 

“It’s ah, simply a bit of exhaustion from previous rounds. I assure you my cab is still operational, and I can move forward with this.”

“Ready!” Choy called out. Well, now he couldn’t back out.

“Alright, if you’re confident in that… now don’t hold back,” Kamado instructed as he steadied his elbow against the table, arm extended and hand open. Ingo simply nodded and shut his eyes - the world was starting to tilt a little - as he accepted, clasping Kamado’s hand with his own in a secure grip.

“Three… two… one… start!”

Immediately, an impressive wave of force pressed against Ingo’s arm, threatening to pin it down then and there before he could even turn his wrist. But Ingo willed his exhausted muscles to contract tight into a pull like a cramp, steeling themselves enough to provide a shaky standstill before it hit back against the table. Ingo made a sound - already the muscles in his abdomen were squeezing in an attempt to assist, only made worse when he had to lean against the table just to keep his wrist close to his chest.

“I can see Captain Zisu doesn’t skimp on her training regiments; that’s a good arm you’ve got, warden!” Kamado’s voice seemed tight, but it couldn’t hide the hint of genuine surprise.

“L-likewise-” Ingo gurgled around the bubble in his chest, tipping his head forward.

Kamado was a much more imposing force than Peren or Kana would have ever hoped to be. This time, Ingo was actively fighting just to get his arm back up to the halfway point, and it was not going well.

But despite this, he was doing better than he had expected. Ingo had anticipated the round to last no longer than ten seconds, ending with his wrist slammed swiftly against the wooden tabletop. 

Perhaps Iscan really had worn Kamado out.

But that didn’t mean he had won yet. Ingo had to twist Kamado’s arm if he was going to have any hope of turning things around, but he couldn’t even get his arm up to that point yet. Perhaps… the only thing he could do is just endure, and wait for Kamado to falter.

“Come on Ingo! You can do it!” Ingo picked up Akari’s encouraging shouts off to the side, amongst the collective calling of both his and Kamado’s names. She was still cheering for him-

“Hurry up and end it, old man!” 

Was that Melli’s voice? Surely, he would never address Kamado like that… was Melli seriously hoping he could avenge Iscan? What happened to Diamond Clan superiority over Pearl Clan?

A grunt slipped out from between clenched teeth as hot aching accumulated in his arm. Ingo had no idea how many people were watching him - and he didn’t want to know - but he was acutely aware of all the attention that was focused on the two of them at the moment. One second felt like ten. How much longer would he have to endure this, and wait for a window of opportunity?

Finally, the window opened. In a moment of assumed exhaustion, the pressure on Ingo’s wrist began to lessen. He had to take advantage now.

Mustering all his strength, Ingo wrenched his arm up, pulling his wrist to twist Kamado’s own into a disadvantageous position. The commander let out a surprised grunt, and those amongst the crowd who were rooting for him renewed their cheering.

Could he keep going, and muscle his way all the way to slamming Kamado’s arm against the tabletop? If he could just keep pressing-

Another bout of tight nausea in his gut abruptly interrupted Ingo’s momentum, and Kamado’s arm halted just before it could hit the table, regaining himself.

“Agh, you’re so close!” Akari’s voice pushed through the jumbled buzzing of the crowd to make it to Ingo’s ears again. She sounded so excited-

Almighty Sinnoh, It was right there. Just one more push. One more, and he could secure his win. But he’d have to put everything into this one.

Ingo’s tendons pulled taut up his arm. Stiff abdominal muscles strained, immediately contracting to help give that extra push while simultaneously squeezing. A starry haze of pain blurred Ingo’s vision, but within his grip he could clearly feel Kamado’s wrist slam against the hard surface of the tabletop. An uproar of congratulatory shouting added to the haze - had he won?

“Congratulations on your victory, Warden Ingo-” A weary but impressed Kamado offered his hand to Ingo again, this time offering a celebratory handshake. “I may have lost, but I admire an opponent most when they best me!”

Ingo barely processed Kamado’s compliment, or the cheering of the crowd around him - it was all spinning around him anyways. A repulsive, hot squeezing intensified under his belt, and his mouth watered alarmingly. Ingo may have won, but his stomach had lost.

“Please stay behind the yellow line Commander, I grievously apologize for this-“ Ingo put an unsteady hand up, barely able to slur the thick words to the confused commander, before he slumped over the side of the table.

He was leaning away from Akari, his back to her, so she could not see what occurred next. But from the horrific retching sound, Kamado’s subsequent shout as he stood up, Melli’s indignant shriek of “You got it on my shoes!” and the uproar of kids screaming as equally-mortified parents tried to cover their eyes… she could easily guess what had happened.

“…Break!” Came Choy’s call, much more hesitant this time.

————

Akari idly turned the comet shard over in her hands, the surface’s brilliant sparkling going completely forgotten as she approached Ingo. He was seated on the Galaxy Hall’s front steps, and Pesselle and her crogunk were checking over him.

From the moment he had publicly heaved, the comet shard had become the last thing on her mind. She would have forgotten all about it entirely until hours later, if it wasn’t for the fact that Ingo had urged her to go collect his winnings for him while Pesselle checked him over - his name had been called to go to the booth and collect his prize after the competition had ended. Because if she didn’t get the tokens and secure that comet shard, Kana and Miki probably would.

Akari had thanked Ingo profusely and hurried to collect the tokens he had won (Ingo had indeed earned a shared third place, having technically beat Kamado. There had been a bit of delay in figuring out if he had earned it or not - no one had ever heaved and disqualified themselves right after securing a win). Now returning from the prize booth, she was making her way back to show Ingo she had indeed secured the shard.

“I can assure you, I really am feeling much better now.” Ingo reassured Pesselle, gripping his hat in his lap as she pressed a hand to his forehead in search of a fever. “It was simply a matter of overcrowding my cab. The issue’s clearly been resolved.”

Pesselle seemed to understand what he meant despite not getting the phrases. She pulled away from him, crogunk looking back at her as she did so. “If you’re sure… If anything worsens again, please let me know.”

And with that, she left to go put her supplies back into her office, crogunk following behind as she talked to herself. “I told them that putting a muchlax in the mochi-eating contest was a bad idea…”

With Pesselle gone, Akari moved to replace her space, and sat down next to Ingo on the steps. Powder chirped at the man from atop her shoulder, looking like she wanted to crawl onto his instead.

“You two have returned! How did…?” Ingo greeted her as he readjusted his hat upon his head, but his question was answered before he could finish it as he quickly spotted the comet shard in Akari’s hands. “Ah, so you did manage to secure it!”

“Yeah! They decided you won third place, you got two tokens; just what I needed.” Akari related to him. “Zisu got first, though.”

“ I cannot say I am surprised; bravo to her,” Ingo seemed genuinely proud that she had secured first place. “I must congratulate her when I see her again.”

“I think you would have got first place if you hadn’t had all that mochi before the competition.” Akari finally allowed herself to watch the angles of the comet shard sparkle as she turned it around in her hands.

Ingo could already envision Zisu or Gaeric practically snapping his arm in a match that wouldn't last any longer than five seconds. He cleared his throat into his fist.“Yes, well… I appreciate your confidence in me, Miss Akari.”

There was a short silence as Akari leaned against Ingo’s shoulder, taking in the view of the festival. It was considerably late now, and the festivities were winding down. The busy crowds had dispersed, thinning out as people were instead packing up the tables and benches, and taking down their booths. Most children and parents had left already and returned back home, leaving the streets in a much more muted, controlled festival ambience.

Ingo waited; it seemed like Akari wanted to say something.

“...I really appreciate what you did,” She spoke up a few minutes later. She continued to turn the comet shard over in her fingers. “For doing all of this for me tonight just so I could get this; you didn’t really have to. Sorry things turned out the way they did, though.”

“It was my pleasure to assist you, Miss Akari.” Ingo looked down at her from over the tattered collar of his coat. “I know you will get good use out of what that prize can provide. Even if the tracks were a little unexpectedly bumpy, I do not regret it.”

If Ingo knew how tonight's events would go, he surely wouldn’t have repeated them. Maybe find an alternative, or something, because who would willingly go through with that? But, he did not regret it, knowing in the end it had been worth it.

Ingo felt arms slip around his middle in a gentle hug. “Thanks, Ingo. I’ll repay you somehow.”

Unfortunately, the gentle squeezing still did not feel good, no matter how careful it was. “Ah, I apologize Miss Akari, but could I ask you to refrain? Regrettably, the tracks are still a little rocky.”

Akari immediately pulled away as asked. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you tell Pesselle you were better now!”

Ingo’s gaze lingered on a group of teens nearby, happily eating dango they had managed to get right before Beni closed the booth. His face unexpectedly went a little green at the mere visual of eating. “…No. Not entirely. I simply did not want her to pursue a solution. The medicines stocked here are rather bitter, and I am concerned that would do more harm than good at this point. I just… believe I need to rest for a bit.”

Akari frowned, thinking on his words for a moment as he sat there, threading his fingers together. Perhaps…

“Well, don’t tell anyone,” She leaned a little closer to him. “But I’ve got half a bottle of Petilil-Bismol back at my unit; I found it in a distortion the other day, and it’s the good stuff. Way better than what Pesselle’s got.”

A delayed expression of uncertain remembrance cleared up Ingo’s brief look of confusion upon hearing the name of the product. “The product… does sound familiar to me.”

“Then come on,” Akari pocketed her comet shard and stood up on the steps, Powder squeaking with the movements - the sneaslet had appeared to have fallen asleep on her shoulder. She took Ingo’s sleeve, encouraging him to stand up and go with her. “I’ll get you some! It’s the least I could do after everything you did tonight for me.”

Ingo followed after her, appreciative for the willingness to help.

[loathed-to-be-her-hound]

The 8 stages of transformation from organic being to shadow knight. What do we think?

(If you want more info PLEASE tell me…..)

[oddlittlestories]

So I headcanon Kutner as having a PTSD symptom of, after severe nightmares from a trigger, waking up to go vomit.

In my previous analysis, I said that Kutner doesn’t reach out to anyone or journal or do anything for his mental health after wh. He just stays home alone and watched tv and eats cereal.

But what if staying up, rather than going to sleep, is a coping mechanism? You can’t have nausea-inducing nightmares if you didn’t go to sleep in the first place.

Is this a super healthy way of dealing? Eh. But I really like the notion that Kutner has a lot of experience dealing with his trauma. Following things back to their source. Finding ways to cope.

I think we see some of that in Birthmarks. Kutner thinks her addiction stems from some trauma, which Taub dismisses twice (“she feels she’s been replaced. her siblings probably feel like she was hand-picked and they were accidents. we’ve all got baggage from our parents.” / “you don’t want her addiction to be her fault”). I wonder if this is why he chose to tell Thirteen about his past instead of his best friend.

[cavalrysystem]

[arthurtristankingsmen]

Some relatively quick doodles I haven't posted \o/. They're mostly msa, with a doodle of my OC Saffron, and my friends' OCs Melody and Bina!

[sketchtxt]

I wish I knew that I can't take medicine because I'll just vomit it out... because I took an awful-tasting medicine and EVERY time I vomit my mouth tastes like it again 😭😭😭 it didn't even get to help me I vomited within 5 minutes of taking it

[maxcatz]

what the frick is happening i feel weird and empty and i kinda wanna vomit but i don’t feel like i need to vomit i just wanna

[leadandblood]

EEEK, here it isss!!! First chapterrrr! Fresh Crozier-suffering, just for you <3

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Terror (TV 2018) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Francis Crozier & Thomas Jopson Characters: Francis Crozier, Thomas Jopson, Alexander McDonald (1817-c.1848) Additional Tags: Alcohol Withdrawal, Withdrawal, Nausea, Vomiting, Canon Compliant, Anger, Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Whump Summary:

Crozier's terrible horrible not good very bad week? No... Two... Perhaps... Perhaps more. Crozier is having a bad withdrawl and Jopson tries to help as much as he can, along with Dr McDonald. Lots of comfort to come, though the first chapter is very much without comfort.