I'm a real human being, this is just an alt
Adult in their 20s, queer, TERFs and minors dni
I am a repulsed aroace, while I do engage in kink discussions *please* don't be weird on my own posts. Mad respect for the mega horny kinksters ofc (that goes without saying, and I appreciate being able to learn) I just don't want to be jumpscared by incredibly explicit text and whatnot ^^;;
when a character is too cute and damp and pathetic, i take physical damage. like it hurts so good when they’re wet and miserable and dripping. i’m gonna fuckjng bite them in half
I honest to god think there’s something personality-revealing about the word a character will choose to describe vomiting. Because, like, we have so many words for it. Are they gonna say the more crass and casual “hurl”? True neutral of “throw up”? The more clinical “vomit”? Overly polite “be sick”?
I stab my science experiment character (the science is torture science for important research into torture) and the blood flows down the side of the operating table in perfect streams of orange, yellow, white, light blue, and dark blue. “Whadda fughk,” slurs specimen 2, “whatdy’ do t’me.”
your alarm goes off at 6:30 like always. you work from home on wednesdays but you want to keep your sleep schedule consistent like all the experts say you should, and really, it's been working great for the past 6 months so you figure they must be on to something.
you feed the cats. some mornings you wish you had a dog to motivate you to go out for a jog before breakfast, but today you're glad you don't. you're not even sure why; the weather is great and in theory a jog should sound nice, but all you really want to do is sit down and stare into nothing. you figure maybe it's your body telling you you didn't sleep well so you decide not to push it.
you do your 15 minutes of light yoga anyway, to the great entertainment of the cats, who insist on participating. you feel a little dizzy afterwards--and during, you just tried to ignore it--but you blame low blood sugar and head into the kitchen for breakfast.
you click the coffee machine on, already pre-loaded for your usual two cups since yesterday evening. you take the bowl of overnight oats out of the fridge. you eat a few spoonfuls while waiting for the coffee but something about it tastes wrong. maybe the yogurt you used was off. you didn't think so, but either way, the thought of finishing the bowl turns your stomach so you throw it away and just drink your coffee with some crackers.
it's 7:24 and just a bit over 1,5 hours before your work day officially starts, you're grumpy, disappointed with your breakfast and the general state of the world this morning so you decide to go back to bed until it's work time.
you close your eyes and suddenly it's 9:48 and you wake up to three missed calls from your manager and a long enough rant on whatsapp that it makes your eyes glaze over trying to read it. "sorry," you type in a reply, "missed my alarm. fever. going back to sleep." you're not actually sure you have a fever but you're starting to accept that something's not right, and the way you're starting to feel shivery makes it a fair bet that fever is not far off. the thought of going to the bathroom to find the thermometer feels like a herculean task, so you just mute notifications on your phone and curl up tighter under the duvet.
you try to fall asleep again but the room keeps spinning in lazzy, sickening circles around you and it gets worse every time you're about to drift off. the cats have positioned themselves around you, one in the crook of your knees, one next to your belly, one on the pillow behind your head. usually you don't mind them in your bed--and good luck keeping cats out of bed anyway--but now the purring warmth pressing against your stomach is making you aware of a vague, formless sense of dread that isn't quite nausea yet but you can imagine by now that it's headed that way.
it's 10:37 when you give up on trying to sleep and relocate to the couch. the cats happily occupy the space you left behind.
you arm yourself with supplies. blanket and pillows, bottled water, ginger mints, a box of tissues. trash can, though you hate puking in anything but the toilet, because you have to clean it up yourself anyway. by now you're definitely feeling queasy, and when you tug the waistband of your yoga pants down a little to ease the pressure on your stomach, you're surprised to see how bloated you've become.
you settle in to read a little but you can't focus on the words on the screen of your e-reader. your stomach is giving the occasional ominous gurgle, and as you press your hand lightly against it, you can feel the movement under your palm. you give up on reading and just close your eyes, your heart beating fast and your breath coming in quick and shallow.
it's shortly before noon that the burps start. you cover your mouth as a tiny bubble of air forces its way up, silent and acidic and bringing little relief. you take a sip of water to rid yourself of the taste, and immediately regret it as the next burp brings the water bubbling up the back of your throat, not all the way into your mouth but too close for comfort. you swallow it back down, torn between resignation and denial that this is how it's going to be.
you spend the next thirty minutes or so fighting the inevitable, shifting every so often to find a position that might feel better but there isn't one. the pitifully small sip of water feels cool in the back of your throat with every increasingly wet burp, and the coffee and the few spoonfuls of oatmeal you had for breakfast seem to have turned into a rancid mess of sick in your bloated belly.
the shift from anxiety to inevitability is so subtle you could almost miss it if the inevitability itself wasn't so overwhelming. you body shifts gears from 'oh god am i going to be sick?' to 'okay, i'm going to be sick' and suddenly you're not anxious anymore. you get up and make your way to the bathroom because you do hate having to rinse the trash can after vomiting. you walk a little hunched over, with the exaggerated steadiness of someone who feels anything but, one hand cradling your middle and the other hovering over your mouth as if it's going to stop the inevitable.
you kneel in front of the toilet, thankful for the soft bath mat cushioning your knees from the cold tile floor. you shiver as you lean over the toilet bowl. your breath hitches as your stomach lurches in a weak false start. an especially foul burp works its way out, and for a ludicrous second you feel the relief and think maybe that was it, maybe you're not going to, after all...
the dry heave that clenches your core immediately proves such thoughts wrong. you're gripping the toilet seat with both hands, trembling and breathing too fast. thick saliva drips from your open mouth into the clear water below. just as you're thinking about how gross it looks, the next heave seizes your body. this time a small trickle of your stomach contents surges up your throat, burning every inch of the way and tasting absolutely vile. you spit, but almost before you can prepare yourself, your stomach heaves again.
and again.
and again, and finally a more substantial amount of the vile sludge that used to be coffee and oats comes up and splashes into the toilet with a force. you draw a shuddering breath, catch a glimpse of something that looks uncomfortably like undigested oats in the no-longer-clear water, and then you're heaving again.
you're not sure how long it lasted--probably not as long as it felt like, your rational brain feels the need to point out--but finally you sit back on your haunches, trembling, wiping tears of excertion from your eyes and wishing you had the foresight to bring the water bottle with you. your throat is burning, your sinuses are burning, and your stomach doesn't feel much emptier than it was before.
you may be done for now, but you're not done.
you spit some more, blow your nose for what good it does. you get up on shaking legs, flush the toilet. wash your hands and face before making your way back to the couch. you walk slightly hunched over, with the exaggerated steadiness of someone who feels anything but, yet the motion of your careful steps makes your remaining stomach contents slosh and swirl uncomfortably.
i think a super appealing thing to me is a character getting sick after eating bad food,, bc it already tasted horrible going down, and the sick burps afterwards somehow taste and smell even worse 😭😭 and then having to puke and tasting it all over again?? peak suffering
Reallyyyyyyy love when someone’s nauseous enough that they’ve crossed into the acceptance phase and have brought a bucket over with them to wherever they are. Bedroom, couch, whatever. Especially awesome if they’ve got a blanket draped over their shoulders just feeling miserable
MANNN when secondary problems become bigger deals than anyone would’ve hoped for….
That nasty wound ended up infected, they’re changing bandages around reddened and seeping wounds with a sky-high fever
They were hoping so badly that their imperfectly-bandaged broken bone or twisted joint would heal without issue, but it causes them enough pain that they have to somehow re-set it
Hoping that their three, four-day illness would finally ease up, only to have someone in their life need to frantically call the hospital as they become delirious or very dangerously dehydrated
Pushing, and pushing, and pushing thinking that they can get away with it after a little rest and recovery time, only to be so knocked flat at a terrible time with pain or illness or exhaustion they they physically can’t push themselves any more and simply won’t be able to for a while
I love secondary side effects making everything worse bro!!!!
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
romaincrisis
titsay
kaledo-art
areudirty
