#cw: vomiting

[sonicexelle-junkary]

CW: Vomiting

Prev

A continuation of the previous part. I’m actually really proud of most of the expressions on shadow, here. The best I’ve ever done. Slightly compressed cause I wanted to fit it into the image limit

[soul-eater-screencaps]

[lingeringmirth]

panic

Stranger Things | Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, the Party (- Will) | Rating: G | Words: 630 | angst, S2 AU, hurt steve, concussions, steve has absent parents.

cw: vomiting.

Also here on AO3.

-

Steve collapses when they get out of the tunnels and Dustin panics.

They haven’t really known each other beyond these past few days, but Dustin knows what it feels like to have a connection, and he feels that with Steve. He’s started to care about him, knows the older teen cares about them, about him, shared something personal and vulnerable with him as they were walking along the railroad tracks.

So, he panics, falling onto his knees on the ground next to Steve, taking hold of his shoulders and shaking him, calling out his name, his voice cracking. Pleading. Steve isn’t quite unconscious, but he’s not fully conscious and aware, either, and that's bad with a head wound, isn’t it? He maybe shouldn’t shake him, but he can’t stop himself.

Someone’s hand lands on his shoulder, shakes him, when his own shaking doesn’t rouse Steve beyond whimpering.

‘We have to get him to the hospital.’

It’s Max, who somehow has more real-life practical knowledge than the other three of them combined, because Will isn’t here, he would know how to take care of someone.

Dustin gentles his shaking, looks down at what he can see of Steve’s beaten-up face in what illumination is offered by the bimmers headlights. He can’t quite make out the bruises, but he knows that they’re there, that Billy Hargrove beat Steve up pretty bad, he’d been admiring Steve’s endurance and ability to keep on his feet despite him likely having a concussion when he’d likely been running on pure adrenaline and stubbornness, both of which have given out now the danger’s past.

Steve rolls over and vomits and there’s a chorus of eww’s from all of them.

‘But none of us can drive!’

He knows that his voice is high and panicked,  but he just can’t help it. He is panicking. What if Steve’s dying? How could Dustin be friends with him if he did that? Would they get blamed somehow? No, he needs to be rational, it would be Billy who’d be blamed, wouldn’t it? It was he who’d beaten Steve up.

What if Steve’s been bleeding into his brain all this time and is dying?

Thankfully, Steve groans a little just then and Dustin hasn’t heard a better sound ever in his life, it feels like.

‘--s not driving…’ Steve’s words are slurred, but they’re words.

Dustin hushes him. ‘It’ll be okay.’

Steve struggles to get up, his movements unco-ordinated and amounting to him not getting to his feet and Lucas and Mike are there to help Dustin heft him to his feet before he even needs to ask. Max snatches the bimmer’s keys out of Steve’s pocket and Dustin’s pretty sure he doesn’t even notice with all the groaning and flopping and puking he’s doing.

They get him to the back seat, still protesting even if weakly and his words jumbled, and Max takes the driver’s seat.

It’s a minor miracle, and they’re owed one after tonight, that they get to Hawkins Memorial without crashing onto anything.

There’s a rush of noises and bodies as they help Steve through the doors, he’s put onto a gurney and wheeled out of sight as a nurse asks them how they can reach Steve’s parents, which none of them know. Dustin realizes he doesn’t even know Steve's home number, not that his parents are home, he doesn’t think. All they can do is give them Steve’s name, age and that he lives in Loch Nora, because even Mike doesn’t know his exact address.

They sit in the waiting room as Steve is being treated and Dustin feels like shit. Steve protected them, actively put himself in harm's way and this is how they repay him? He vows to do better, because Steve is worth it.

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 3: "Bite Down on This"

CW: Blood, poison, mutilation, vomiting

AO3

---

After the eagles had left, Luthien gave herself two heartbeats to catch her breath, then spun on her heel and ran to where Beren lay. His eyes were open, but blank and she didn't think he was really conscious.

Still, as she dropped to her knees beside him she couldn't help calling, "Beren?"

He didn't react. She'd expected that, but it was still a horrible disappointment.

When she turned to his injured arm, her stomach churned and she had to swallow hard. Her hands were shaking as she reached out to pull back the tattered end of his sleeve. 

When she saw the ripped flesh and splintered bone she had to turn aside and throw up. For an instant the wish flashed across her mind that she was still in her house up in Hirilorn, but she dismissed that thought almost as soon as it had come and turned back to Beren, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Her breath came quick as she looked again at the stump. It wasn't bleeding much any more, but the flesh was blackening.

Poison.

It had to come out.

There was nothing else for it. Luthien took a deep breath and let it out again to brace herself, then grabbed Beren's arm and raised it to her lips, trying to suck out the poison.

She didn't know what Beren's blood was supposed to taste like, but what flooded her mouth was burning and bitter and she turned to spit it out, then tried again.

Beren stirred, trying to pull away with a cry of pain. She hoped that was a good sign and spat out another mouthful of blood and poison, then pulled off her girdle and folded it in half.

"H-here, Love: bite down on this," she said, her voice shaking as she slipped the girdle between Beren's teeth. "It'll help." She didn't know exactly how it would help, but she'd heard that it did. Then she braced herself and went back to trying to suck the poison out of the wound.

---

Continued on Day 10

[betweenthetimeandsound]

--prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

The girl heaved on the hospital bed, vomit scattering all over the otherwise sanitized sheets. Everybody rushed over in horror, with the priest going down to note the stains on his cloak and her mother grabbing onto the girl's hand. Both their pulses accelerated.

"Could it mean, the sickness is gone?" The doctor asked, trying to push everyone else away from the girl. She merely gave a small smile, her dimple standing out amongst the bile and the sickness which permeated the room with toxic green and solid white.

"I don't know; sweetie--could you tell the doctor what happened?" The girl's mother took a tissue and wiped the girl's face, hoping with every movement, the weeks in the hospital would go away and the youth the girl possessed remained.

At that moment, the girl closed onto herself, trying to seek out privacy amongst the observers. A minute of silence lingered, with the occasional movements and text notifications popping off to disrupt it, little by little. Closing her eyes, she imagined something, then slowly lifted her head.

"I saw pink houses," she mumbled. "Lots and lots of pink houses."

"Was this when you were unconscious?" The doctor asked, jotting notes in their notebook. Adjusting their glasses, they tried to get a reaction from the girl.

"Was it heaven?" The priest asked.

The girl held her knees.

"I don't know, but the pink houses were in every shade of pink possible! And everybody there was friendly and kind and sweet." She smiled, while blowing at a stray curl falling from her eyes. Time seemed to freeze, if only because she started getting the color back in her cheeks.

"But aren't those people here with you?" The girl's mother asked.

"But there, they had frosted cookies and ice cream."

"We could bring you that." One of the nurses sauntered over to the phone to give a call. The girl's eyes wandered, only for her to shrink when the lights shone too bright.

[teamdilf]

Mind the tags and the warning in the beginning notes for this chapter, friends.

In the aftermath of all that has happened, Astarion finds himself triggered when Petra touches him, and eventually is able to speak to Petra about his feelings.

His throat is raw, his stomach aches and beside him is a goblet of blood. Cold and congealed, but he sniffs it and it’s cow. Tolerable. He chokes it down, gagging as he forces the thick blood down his throat, but the hunger fades from desperation to the constant ache he’s accustomed to.

Petra has never known this pain. He’s never known life without it. Even draining would-be murderers silences it for hours at best. How many would he have to kill to ease the pain completely? How many bodies would he be tossing into the Chionthar every damned day?

He can’t hide in here forever so he opens the door and glances at the tall clock at the end of the hallway. It’s early in the morning - near dawn and close to when he and Petra would be going to bed, but when he goes to their bedroom, she’s not there. He slips on a shirt and pants. She’s not in the living room. Or the kitchen - but Jan is, eyes bleary as he clutches a coffee cup as if it were a shield. “She’s outside and really worried about you but I can go tell her that you’re not - whatever happens to vampires who don’t eat.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” he mutters, wandering over to the icebox to grab a wine bottle full of blood. A disgusting meal but even congealed cow blood is better than the dead rats he ate for so long.

[mrsandman42069]

CW: vomit

[laughingmagpye]

Can't keep water down. Since this morning I've thrown up about twice as much as I've managed to drink. Getting pretty dehydrated and can't sleep because whatever GI infection I've got has decided to give my legs a constant, agonising ache that only stops when I move them.

My immune system is shit.

[ninevoltcolt]

“HURK-!”

[hummerous]

there's not much time

here

take this

[naomistares]

this one part from harrow the ninth always made me really upset. so i made a four page comic out of it!

[bugsinapocket]

Finally finished hhh

Reblogs appreciated!!💕💕

[canisalbus]

✦ Mom ✦

[foldingfittedsheets]

I had this friend I was living with when I was getting my associates degree in my early twenties. Wait, hang on. So the first thing I need to convey about that time in my life is that I was as full of anxiety as it was possible to be.

I was working, taking classes, and living on my own for the first time. I was drowning. I was a bubbling kettle of stress and responsibilities all waiting to boil over at any moment. Bodies are fickle things. They all react to stress very differently. My body decided that the best possible way to deal with stress was to puke about it.

This was extremely unwelcome not just because throwing up is a violently uncomfortable experience but also because I struggled most of my life to maintain a healthy weight. I’d eat enormous portions but even when my food stayed down I burned through calories like a hummingbird. I tended to hover right around a hundred pounds, desperately trying to gain weight.

My friends were all aware of my struggles. They’d keep granola bars on them for when I suddenly got so hungry I was sick and made me calorie dense meals. They knew the face I made when I realized I was going to be sick and usually had water and back rubs for me afterward.

So that’s where I was. Throwing up generally at least once a week, working and school full time. I was living with three friends. Let’s call them K, D, and E. K and I had been friends since middle school and she and I shared a bedroom with our own bathroom. The boys D and E shared a room, and had the public bathroom.

The last thing you need to know is that D was a sex addict. He was always horny, masturbated several times a day, and made no secret of his proclivities. It was a running joke within the friend group. (As an aside he once had his car broken into while transporting his duffel bag of sex toys to and from a liaison, and the thief ignored everything else in the car to take the toys. It was probably over a thousand dollars of used sex toys but the thief still wanted it more than his iPod)

One night I was doing homework and dinner was sitting poorly. I hadn’t fully developed my brain yet to make a connection between my paper was stressing me out to the fact that I suddenly felt really sick. But to my dismay K was in our bathroom.

So I jumped up, frantically ill, and ran across the living room to the boys toilet to barf.

The walls were thin.

Within a few minutes D came in with a cold wash cloth. He put it on my neck and rubbed my back. He’d brought a glass of water for me, too, which was all very lovely.

When I was done we sat in the miserable aftermath of this latest episode in stomach violence. He finally broke the silence to comment, “I’ve never lost an erection as fast as I did hearing you start puking.”

[biruesque]

extremely normal thoughts of a teenage girl

[ninevoltcolt]

“Ugh....”