lets go home

Tokyo Ghoul aesthetic page i’m 18

[locketlace]

Natsu when Gray tries to use iced shell or Erza tries to sacrifice herself for the guild or Lucy is inexplicably naked or Happy won’t shut the fuck up about fish or

[flower-kits]

Kittyboy purring between contractions as he crowns the 4th baby of his litter

[1-jar-of-stars]

On Friendship.

[emphasis-0n-the-comfort-deactiv]

⭐️ sleepless solidarity (sick!Dean)

Characters: Dean Sutton, Jason Rhodes

Summary: True friends never clock out.

Author's Note: This was written for @sicktember 2025's first prompt: “It’s the middle of the night, why are you up?”

This is part of a collection of stories with my original characters. You can read the other stories in the collection here.

⚠️ Content warnings: vomiting

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jason is a light sleeper, so it’s not really surprising that he’s pulled from sleep to the sound of a loud clatter in the middle of the night.

He isn’t immediately sure where the sound came from, but he knows that it didn’t come from his bedroom.  So he slips out of bed to go inspect.

He discovers pretty quickly that the noise came from the front room.  He can hear the faint sound of the TV playing, and can see the glow from it down the hall.

Dean must be up.

Frowning, Jason walks down the hall to check on his roommate.  They have swim practice in less than three hours, so it’s a little weird for Dean to be up and sacrificing precious sleep to watch TV.

Jason has a feeling that something is wrong.

He finds Dean curled up in a blanket on the couch, blinking dazedly at the TV.  He has an episode of Suits playing softly.

Jason taps on the doorframe to let him know he’s there.  “Hey, Dean,” he says quietly.  He flips on the light.

Dean falters a bit at the light, then squints his eyes to look at him.  “Hey, Jace,” he says tiredly.

Jason yawns.  “It’s the middle of the night, why are you up?”  He eyes the remote on the floor and deduces that it was the culprit of the loud clatter.  It must’ve fallen from the armrest of the couch. Jason also notices the trash bin from their shared bathroom on the floor, close to Dean’s head.  He winces.  “Are you okay?”

Dean really looks unwell.  He’s pale and trembling under their heaviest throw blanket.

“M’not feeling too hot,” Dean mumbles.  “Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, but don’t sweat it, man.  I don’t mind.” He folds his arms across his chest, feeling awkward.  And concerned.  Dean isn’t one to outright admit when he’s not feeling well.  He tends to have a bad habit of trying to muscle through.  “What’s going on?”

Dean shrugs.  “Stomach’s a mess,” he says feebly.  “Definitely caught a bug or something.”

“Yeah, you look a bit peaked.” Jason tells him.  He regards the trash bin.  “Have you thrown up?”

Dean shakes his head.  “Not yet,” he breathes.  “Pretty sure it’s in my not-so-distant future, though.”  He lets out a shaky breath.  “I woke up feeling like my insides were liquifying,” he goes on to explain.  “Had to make a mad dash to the toilet.  I kinda destroyed our bathroom.  Sorry.”

Jason crinkles his nose.  “You’re always so good at painting a vivid picture,” he says.  “But that’s okay, man.  Shit happens.”

Dean snorts weakly at that.  “Literally.”  He swallows hard.  “Don’t worry, I cleaned the toilet after I was done.  Don’t want you catching this.”

“You cleaned the toilet,” Jason repeats, staring at his roommate in awe.  “When you’re sicker than a dog?”  Dean always puts others before his own well-being, so Jason really shouldn’t be fazed, but he’s always taken aback by Dean’s altruism nonetheless.

“It’s just a bug,” Dean says.  “It’s not like I’m dying.”

“Your complexion suggests otherwise,” Jason retorts, not unkindly.  He crosses the room so he can put the back of his hand on Dean’s forehead.  The heat he finds there is nothing short of alarming.  “You’re burning up, dude.”

Dean sighs.  “I know.”

“Did you check your temp?” Jason asks.

“Seemed like too much effort.”

Jason rolls his eyes at that.  “Right, it’s much harder than scrubbing the toilet,” he says sarcastically.

“Do we even have a thermometer?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, there’s one in that first aid kit your mom gave us when we moved in.” Jason enlightens him.  Dean’s mom is a nurse, so she had made sure they were aptly stocked up with all things medical.  “It’s in the bathroom.  I’ll go grab it.”

“Oh,” Dean mumbles after him. “Thanks.”

When Jason returns, Dean has pushed himself up into the seated position and is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“Here, man,” Jason says, handing the oral device over to his friend.

Dean takes it sluggishly and sticks it under his tongue.

As they wait to get a reading, Jason goes into the kitchen to wet a cool cloth and get Dean a glass of water.  As he returns, the thermometer beeps.

“Look at that timing.” Jason sets the glass down on the end table. He drapes the cloth over the glass.  “What’s it say?”

Dean is blinking down at the device dazedly.  “Um… one hundred and—” he breaks off before he can finish reporting the number, his face paling even further.  He brings his free hand up to his mouth in a fist, and mutters, resignedly, “Uh…  I’m about t-to puke.”

Jason had already recognized that and calmly says, “Okay.  That’s alright.”  He reaches to take the thermometer out of Dean’s hand and sets it on the end table with the other items. Then he nudges the trash bin in front of his sick friend and settles in on the couch beside him, helping him lean over the receptacle.

It’s over fairly quickly.  Dean is so ill that the liquid just gushes out of him without him needing to strain much at all.  Even still, it looks dreadful; Dean is barely able to get a breath in between waves. It turns Jason’s own stomach witnessing the sheer force and volume of it all.

But then it’s over, and Dean is just panting over the bin, spitting the remnants of bile and saliva into its depths.

“God, I h-hate throwing up,” he says shakily when he has some of his breath back.  “Sorry, Jace.”

“It’s okay,” Jason assures him.  “Just take a second to collect yourself, bro.  That was brutal.”  He reaches to brush Dean’s sweaty hair out of his eyes.  “You want to lean back?”

Dean nods, so Jason nudges him back into the cushions. Then he offers him the damp cloth so he can wipe his face and cool off.  He also offers the water, but Dean just shakes his head.

Jason, still curious about the extent of Dean’s fever, glances at the thermometer.  The display has gone dark.  “What was your temp again?” he asks.

Dean meets his eyes blearily.  “102.6,” he croaks.

Jason whistles lowly.  “Damn.  Okay.  That’s pretty high, man.  Need to keep an eye on that.”

Dean shrugs.  “I’ll live,” he says, rather casually for just expelling his innards.  But that’s just Dean: he’s really freaking tough.  “Sorry again for getting you up,” he tells Jason.

Jason waves him off as he stands to tie up the used liner in the bin. “Quit apologizing,” he says, meeting Dean’s eyes sincerely.  “I mean it.”

“But you have to leave for practice in, like, what… two hours?”

Jason shrugs.  “Yeah.  So?”

“So, I’m interrupting your very precious opportunity to sleep.”

“Gee, you’re right.  Let me just ignore you puking your guts out while I catch some zzz’s.”  Jason tosses a throw pillow at Dean to emphasize just how ridiculous he’s being.

Dean huffs a weak laugh at that and hugs the pillow against his aching stomach.

“Besides, you’d do it for me,” Jason adds.  “Hell, you have done it for me.”  He takes the soiled bag, then sticks it outside their front door to be dealt with later.

“You at least had the decency to puke in the daytime,” Dean mumbles when he returns. “I’ve never lost sleep on account of your rebelling stomach.”

“Well, I think you’ve lost enough sleep on account of your own rebelling stomach,” Jason says.  “Look, I swear I’ll crash a little more before practice, but let me help you get settled first.  The only way I’ll be able to fall back asleep is if I know you’re all good, okay?”

Dean sighs.  “Okay,” he finally allows, softly.

“Okay,” Jason echoes.  “You want to go back to your bed?  Might be a little more comfortable.”

Their couch was gifted to them from Jason’s parents.  It was the couch they’d had ever since Jason was a kid, so it’s pretty worn and lumpy.

“Mhm,” Dean affirms, but he makes no effort to move.

“I’ll help you,” Jason says, offering his hand for Dean to take.  “C’mon.”

He guides Dean down the hall, one arm wrapped securely around his back. Dean leans into him, not quite limp, but close. His breaths are coming in uneven, shallow pulls from the exertion. He keeps his head low and focuses on walking straight.

They make it to the bedroom, and Jason helps him ease down onto the bed. Dean drops into the pillows with a quiet groan, one arm slung over his eyes. Jason pulls his comforter up to his chest and tucks it around him.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles.

Jason squeezes his shoulder, then heads back out to the TV room to retrieve the trash bin.  He takes it to the bathroom to replace the liner and grabs a bottle of Tylenol from the first aid kit, too.  He returns to Dean’s bedroom.

Dean watches him as he places the Tylenol on the nightstand and the bin on the floor beside his bed.

Jason leaves the room once more to go get the cool cloth, the glass of water, and the thermometer that had been left in the TV room. 

Dean’s eyes have slipped closed when he returns.  Jason sets the water and thermometer down, then places the cool cloth on Dean’s forehead.

“You can try the Tylenol later, once your stomach settles,” he says, his voice low.

Dean shifts slightly, cracking open his eyes. “Appreciate it, man.”

Jason pulls his phone out of his sweatpants pocket to shoot a quick text to Coach Jennings, letting him know that Dean sick.  He doesn’t expect Coach to answer at this hour, but at least he’ll be in the know for when he wakes up.

“You’re off the hook for practice,” Jason reports, re-pocketing his phone.

“Bless you,” Dean mutters sincerely.

“Coach’ll probably want you to check in with Erin at some point later today,” Jason says.  Erin is the athletic trainer, and it’s the team’s policy for sick athletes to check in with her if they need to miss practice.  “I’ll let you know what he says.”

“‘Kay,” Dean breathes.

Jason can tell that sleep is starting to pull him under. “Anything else you need?” he asks.

Dean hums a negative.  “Think m’good.”

“Okay, man.  I’ll check on you before I leave.  Holler if you need anything.”

Jason starts to head to the door and he’s not at all surprised when Dean manages one more thank you before exhaustion wins out.  “Thanks again, Jace.”

“Anytime, man.  I’ve got you,” Jason says in reply as he flips out the light.

And as Jason drifts back off to sleep, he takes a moment to appreciate his friendship with Dean.  They’ve had each others’ backs more times than he can count.  He recognizes how special that is.

We’ve got each other.

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

Thanks for reading! 💛

[sickfictropes]

a character fainting in the middle of being lectured by their captain for something they did wrong, both worrying them and explaining why they'd made the mistake in the first place, is soooooo good

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Whumpees with pneumonia. Whumpees bedbound, wheezing, drifting in and out of consciousness because they're so exhausted, having to be propped up every so often by Caretaker when they inevitably fall asleep and sink downwards. The fevers that grip them through the night, that sap them of so much energy that even breathing becomes a Herculean labour.

When they cough, their chest hurts so badly, and they're delirious enough that they don't understand it's better for them to cough it up. Caretaker has to slide in behind them, one hand on their chest, the other on their back, rubbing and coaxing until the coughing becomes productive and Whumpee brings up a small amount of phlegm onto a tissue that Caretaker holds up for them.

"Good job, Whumpee." Caretaker whispers, brushing back the sweat-damp hair from their forehead. "You're doing so well."

All Whumpee can do is groan miserably, too tired to even cry.

[keianwrites]

Husband pregnant with a blocked birth canal, gynecologist wife tries to help him through the contractions and make him do some walking around their garden admist terrible contractions since it will help unblock the birth canal.. he is already due! Please can you write something on those lines?

Words: 1.3K+

Content: Mpreg, contains an outdoors birth

—

“I-I can’t…it’s stuck!”

He’d been pushing bare naked while standing, hands on his thighs, knees slightly bent on the bathroom floor for the past 10 minutes or so, his wife with him with her hand gently rubbing his back. The couple was trying the tactic of him pushing his hands downward on the top of his belly, with his wife working her fingers through his opening to try to help the baby come out, but it was too painful, and the struggling father wasn’t making much progress. 

He was panting heavily as he felt another contraction ramp up. He grunted and gave another push.

He’d been overwhelmed and anxious because his labor had progressed pretty fast in the first half of the day. But now that he was due to push, the baby’s head was stuck lodged in his birth canal and hadn’t crowned yet.

“I’m sorry, babe, I-I can’t, it’s not coming out!” He shook his head, tears forming in his eyes, looking desperately at his wife. 

“It’s alright, it’s gonna be alright. Breathe, baby. Don’t force it.” She reminded her husband, moving herself in front of his view and looking at him in the eyes gently and lovingly, whilst rubbing his heavy, aching belly soothingly. He slowed his rapid breathing down, taking slow, deep breaths and calming himself, trying to focus on her. “You’re doing so well. Don’t worry, we’ll figure out a way to get things to move along.” 

He wiped his tears with his forearm. 

“Come on, honey, let’s take a walk outside the back and get some fresh air. We can see if it’ll help with the blockage, you think you’re up for it?” She asked her husband. 

“Yeah, that sounds…that sounds good,” He nodded, a bit out of breath. He wasn’t entirely eager to stop pushing where he was to walk somewhere else in their home, but whatever he needed to do to just get this baby out. 

His wife grabbed the towel placed underneath him, along with another new towel from the bathroom closet. She helped him get his shorts back on and let him hang off her shoulder as they walked out from the bathroom towards the kitchen area where the sliding door was out to the backyard. 

“Ohhh it hurts, it hurts.” He winced, shutting his eyes and holding his painful, contracting belly from underneath as he limped his way to the sliding door. He huffed and slowly blew out a breath as the intense contraction passed over him. 

“I know, honey, I know. You got this,” She encouraged him as she opened the door to their backyard.

He breathed in deeply and took in the warm, fresh spring air, opening his eyes to the backyard view. The afternoon Sun shone bright in the clear sky. The lawn grass was a vibrant green; the flowers which the couple planted along the tall fence earlier in the spring had also bloomed.

“Alright, we’ll have you walk around back here, see if it can help get things unblocked.” His wife explained to him.

The couple linked hands, with her other hand on her husband’s back. He paced along the grass lawn, with his wife walking beside him.

“Ohhh godddd…” He moaned at another horrible contraction, hunching over grabbing his heavy, dropped belly and blowing out a huff of breath. “Hooohhhhhh….” His contractions were not only strong but a minute long and getting much closer, almost on top of one another. His hips ached from the weight of his baby in his pelvis. 

“Very good. I’ve got you. Breathe.” His wife said, rubbing his back. “That was pretty rough, huh?”

“It’s been that way all day…” He winced. Fuck, he didn’t know how much more of this he could take. At least the weather was nice out today. 

The couple continued to walk along the grass lawn for some time. With each step, he could feel the baby’s head pressing against his birth canal, causing a horrible pressure. He stopped walking when suddenly he felt the head crowning. 

“Babe, I think…ohhhh it’s coming!!” He exclaimed, clutching his belly.

She put her hand on his belly as well. “Okay, everything’s moving along. Do you wanna go back inside?” 

“No-nope…gotta pushhhh!!!” He grunted at another contraction, which pressed the baby’s head further into his birth canal. Nothing felt like it was blocked up anymore, that was a relief. But not really, because he had to push.

“Alright, amazing, I’ll just lay out the towels.” His wife acted quickly, walking them back both to the concrete, and placing the towels on the concrete in front of the sliding door. She helped him stand on top of the towels and quickly stripped him of his shorts, so he was bare naked outside, about to give birth on the patio.

“How do you want to push?" She asked then. "Do you want to push standing like earlier? Or squatting, or..."

“Y-yeah, I can stand.” He nodded.

“Let me check you –” She said, kneeling in front of him and proceeding to examine him. “Okay everything looks good. Push on the next contraction, honey.” 

He planted his feet further apart, bending his knees, and pressing his hands to his thighs. He took a deep breath and grunted as he pushed. “Hrgghhhh…ahhhh…” 

“You can do it, darling,” His wife encouraged. “Push, push, pushhhhh…” 

“Hnnnghhhh!!!!” He groaned as he bore down. “Oohhhh it’s big!!” He whined, hot tears stinging his eyes at the feeling of the lips of his opening expanding. 

His wife looked underneath him and saw the baby’s head was crowning. She continued to instruct her husband to breathe and push. Gripping at his thighs, he sucked in a deep breath and let out a loud groan. With a big push, he’d finally managed to get the baby’s head out. 

“Amazing job,” She said. “Alright, here comes the shoulders.” 

He nodded and took a deep breath. When he had another contraction, he firmly pressed his hands to the thighs of his slightly bent legs standing planted to the floor and his head hung down. She kept his hand on his back as he pushed, letting out a loud groan. “Aaaaahhhhh!!!” The shoulders were almost completely out. 

“Good, that was good.” She assured. She had her hand underneath his legs. “Okay, we can try again where you put pressure on your belly. Does that sound good? It’s up to you.”

“Yeah. Mhm.” He nodded. “We’ll do that.”

He placed both hands on his belly, breathing deeply on another contraction and pressing his hand downwards. The baby’s shoulders were inching out of him with each push, they weren’t stuck like earlier when he was pushing in the bathroom.

“You’re doing great. Keep pushing, honey.” His wife encouraged him.

Her husband panted hard and grunted through another big push, then a few more pushes, slowly pressing his hands down on his belly once more. With more pushing and grunting, he’d manage to get the shoulders out of his body. His legs trembled, he hunched over with his hands to his thighs and groaned, “Ohhhhh god….” in total overwhelm. He panted heavily as he anticipated what he hoped to be his final set of pushes.

His wife kept holding her hands underneath the baby’s head. “Amazing job. I have the head. Keep going, you’re almost there.”

With that, her husband took some more deep breaths, and with another contraction, he felt his belly harden, he had the uncontrollable urge to push. He spread his legs further apart and took a deep breath. He pressed his hands more firmly against his thigh, pushing and yelling loudly until the baby was completely out of his body and caught in his wife’s hands.

He was still hunched over, panting and catching his breath. Sweat completely drenched his body. His heavy panting melted into soft sobs because it was all over. 

His wife gave him the crying baby to hold to his bare, leaking chest. “You did so great.” She gave her husband a gentle smile and kissed him.

[miiilowo]

"you're good at art you should go to college you should start animation you should get a job in the industry you have so much potential" I SHOULD BE IN THE WOODS. EATING POISONOUS BERRIES

[groaningmoaningtummies-deactiva]

SCAT IDEA BELOW CUT!!

okay okay so I haven’t gotten around to writing it and maybe I won’t it sounds more difficult than it’s worth BUT I HAVE A CONCEPT:

Imagine a smol person who has been having stomach issues and their partner knows it and the partner wakes up to the first one crying because their tummy hurts and if they get up they are gonna shit themselves. So their partner pries away their underwear gently and finds a decent sized rag. Their bigger towels are in the watch. The partner encourages the smol person to lift their ass and let it go. Little did the partner know that their smol person was really backed up and the rag won’t cut it… Maybe the partner panicked and tries to get the smol one to stop only for their stomach to cramp sending more sickly shit everywhere

I’m just- feral for this rn

[shion-yu]

A Safe Place (part 3) [day 18]

A feverish Cliff is seen in the emergency room. For @monthofsick Day 18 “Unfamiliar surroundings”. 2,965 words, original work, TWs emeto, hospital content.

Part 1 | Part 2 - I swear this was supposed to be 2 parts but now it’s gonna be 4? Lol whoops.

Elliot supported Cliff into the busy ER. It was a Saturday, of course there were a lot of people there, Elliot thought regretfully. Silly to hope otherwise. Elliot eased Cliff into a seat as close to the reception desk as possible and then checked Cliff in, presenting Cliff’s ID and health insurance card. He was grateful Cliff’s wallet and phone were the two things his boyfriend had actually brought with him when he left his parents’ house, although a jacket and his inhaler would have been useful third and fourth choices.

“What’s this visit for?” The receptionist asked after scanning the cards and handing them back to Elliot.

“My boyfriend is having trouble breathing,” Elliot said, hoping this concerned her as much as it concerned him. “He has asthma, he’s wheezing, and he has a high fever. He didn’t know who I was earlier.”

The receptionist stood up a little to catch a glimpse of Cliff in his seat, who did look like he was struggling. “Okay, we’ll get him triaged as soon as possible,” the receptionist said. Elliot chose to believe her for his own sanity’s sake. “In the meantime, have him wear a mask.”

Cliff sagged against Elliot when Elliot sat next to him. He was in no shape to do paperwork, so Elliot tried to fill it out as much as he could. Fifteen minutes passed. Cliff was whimpering in pain and his wheeze had grown louder. “Just a few more minutes, Cliffy,” Elliot said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. Thirty minutes passed. Cliff was now insisting he was fine after all, and that they ought to go home. But that was when he was lucid, which would last only a minute before he’d follow up by saying something that made very little sense and reminded Elliot exactly why they couldn’t leave. Finally, about forty minutes after they’d checked in, a nurse called Cliff’s name and brought them to a small room between the waiting room and the actual ER. Elliot repeated the story he’d given the receptionist although more aggressively this time as the nurse nodded and took Cliff’s vitals.

Elliot never wanted Cliff to be so sick. However, his vitals did prompt some action and for that Elliot was grateful. Cliff’s fever was 103.5 now, his oxygen running lower than expected at 92%, and his heart rate and blood pressure were both high. The nurse led them to a stretcher in a curtained off bay and told Cliff to change into a gown. Elliot had to help Cliff climb up, his boyfriend’s coordination poor. His hands were shaking too hard to button his own gown up, so Elliot did it for him.

“Don’t feel good,” Cliff mumbled, swaying even as he sat up on the stretcher.

“I know, just lie back,” Elliot said. “They’re gonna help you.”

Thankfully, this time they only waited about ten minutes before a new nurse came in with a small bucket full of supplies. She introduced herself as Anna and said she was going to insert an IV, take some blood, and hook Cliff up to oxygen and fluids. She was also going to swab Cliff for flu and strep, but Elliot explained the urgent care had already done that. “Well, this tests for some other stuff too, it’s a full respiratory panel. I’d recommend we just do it anyways.” Elliot agreed on Cliff’s behalf; Cliff seemed to be communicating only in nods at this point.

Nurse Anna looped some oxygen tubing over Cliff’s ears first and plugged it into the wall. She also attached a blood pressure cuff and oxygen probe that she said would stay on for now for monitoring. Elliot felt like all the devices only made Cliff look sicker. Anna swabbed Cliff’s nose, which made him cough harshly to the point of gagging, and then got ready to insert an IV.

Cliff looked to Elliot in panic, swallowing rapidly. ‘Faint,’ he mouthed to Elliot helplessly. “Um, I think he passes out when there’s needles,” Elliot spoke up for him. Cliff nodded gratefully.

“Well you’re in the right place if you do,” Nurse Anna said. She lowered the head of the stretcher and told Elliot to hold Cliff’s hand as she looked for a vein in his other arm. “I’ll go super quick,” she reassured them, and she was right. It was quick. But Cliff turned sheet white and got really sweaty and by the time she’d collected enough tubes of blood, flushed and secured the hub and hooked him up to a bag of fluids, Cliff was barely conscious. “Don’t worry, it happens,” she said. She put a pillow under Cliff’s legs and told him to breathe deeply through his nose. Elliot found her calm demeanor the only thing keeping him calm, because it seemed terrifying even if it was normal. Cliff followed her directions and eventually gained some color back. Anna said his blood pressure was coming back up and that he should just lie there with his feet up for a few more minutes, then left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Cliff apologized miserably for the tenth time since they’d come back here.

“Baby, please, stop apologizing,” Elliot told him. “You’re here because you have to be and you’re not doing anything bad or wrong. Just rest.”

Cliff’s eyes filled with tears and he covered them with his forearm. “I suck,” he whimpered, Elliot’s words clearly not having reached him as intended. Elliot sighed and put one hand on Cliff’s head to stroke his sweaty hair. It wasn’t worth fighting Cliff on this right now. Elliot just had to be there for him.

Cliff fell asleep to Elliot’s relief. Elliot texted his mom what was going on and hoped this wasn’t as bad as it felt. Cliff snored quietly until a woman came with a huge portable x-ray machine. “Sorry to wake you up,” she said, “Cliff? I’m here to get your x-ray. I’ll go fast.”

Cliff opened his eyes and stared blankly at her. Elliot wasn’t sure if Cliff knew what was going on at this point so he stroked Cliff’s arms and explained, “Cliff? She’s gonna take the pictures of your lungs now.” He helped the x-ray tech manipulate Cliff’s torso so that he was lying on a hard board. Elliot stood in the doorway while they did the films.

“Alright, take a nice deep breath for me and hold it,” the x-ray tech said. “I know, good job, got it. You can cough.” And cough Cliff did, that same desperate wet cough that had made Elliot’s mind up to bring him here. He managed to catch his breath, but it wasn’t over. “One more,” the tech said, moving the boards and machine around to point at Cliff’s side now. “Again. Deep breath. One, two, and good. Let it out.”

This time Cliff didn’t seem able to stop coughing. He coughed until each gasp sounded like a Herculean struggle and Elliot wasn’t sure that any of that air he was gulping in was actually reaching his lungs. The machine that was measuring Cliff’s oxygen levels started to beep and the tech told Elliot she was going to find the nurse. Elliot held on to Cliff and tried to soothe him, but it didn’t seem to work. Cliff just kept coughing until suddenly his eyes flew open and he spewed a sharp wave of vomit from his mouth all the way to the end of the stretcher. Elliot winced, pulling back and trying not to look at the mess. Cliff spluttered and coughed between additional harsh gags that produced little besides a stream of thick brown saliva that pooled in his lap. Elliot prayed the nurse would come in soon and hesitantly rubbed Cliff’s back. He didn’t know what to do and Cliff seemed frozen, unable to lift his head or close his mouth.

Thankfully the nurse showed up then and said, “Oh no!” Oh no was right, Elliot thought anxiously. “Did we just get coughing too hard?” She glanced at Cliff's oxygen levels and turned a small green dial on the wall, which made a quiet hissing noise for a second as the flow of oxygen increased. “Don’t worry hun, we’re going to get you cleaned up.” She found a change of sheets in one of the cupboards behind the stretcher and changed the blankets and top sheet in record time. She checked Cliff’s fluids which were nearly done and then charted standing in the room for a few minutes on her rolling computer.

Cliff was silent, hunched over holding a pink plastic basin in his lap in case of another incident, and Elliot couldn’t tell if he was just out of it or humiliated. The room still smelled of putrid stomach acid; Elliot breathed through his mouth. His phone dinged in his pocket and he saw an alarmed text from his mother. He didn’t have time to reply though, as the doctor walked in at that moment.

“Doctor Jim,” Anna greeted him politely, scooting her computer farther away from the bedside. “He just threw up coughing and I turned up his oxygen.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dr. Jim said. He looked to be in about his forties, was mostly bald and had tiny round glasses that looked too small for his face. “Cliff? I’m Jim, I’m a physician here. How are you doing today?”

Elliot thought that was a stupid question. Cliff looked at Dr. Jim with hazy eyes and mumbled, “Sick.”

“Well, that makes sense. You’ve got yourself a nasty case of double pneumonia,” Dr. Jim said. Elliot’s heart sank. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

Cliff shook his head no. He moved his hand to the edge of the bed that Elliot understood as a silent signal to hold it, which he did. “Well, I think it’s best if we admit you for observation overnight with the vitals you have. I’m going to order two IV antibiotics and some steroids, try and get that swelling down in your lungs and hopefully you’ll be feeling better in no time. How’s that sound?”

Cliff didn’t answer. “That sounds fine,” Elliot said, squeezing Cliff’s hand. “Can I stay with him?”

“Once we move him to the floor, visiting hours are eight to eight,” Dr. Jim said. “But you can stay with him for as long as he’s in the ER.” He turned to Anna and gave a few other orders for Zofran, Tylenol, albuterol and budesonide treatments. It all seemed so casual to them, but Elliot was still disturbed by how sick Cliff looked and seemed to him.

Dr. Jim physically examined Cliff next. Cliff shuddered and Dr. Jim apologized for his cold hands, but Elliot knew that the temperature hadn’t had anything to do with it. He hummed a lot, wrote down some notes, and then left with a “Hope you feel better soon.” Elliot wondered if he told all his patients that, or just the ones who could actually get better soon. Nurse Anna also excused herself to get the ordered medications, leaving Elliot alone with Cliff once again.

“So… pneumonia. That sounds pretty bad,” Elliot said. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt so sick?”

“You were at work. I didn’t want to bother you,” Cliff said in a tiny voice. “And then I tried to text you but none of the letters in my phone made sense.”

Elliot felt his chest clench painfully hearing that. “Cliff, you wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“But I’m bothering you now,” Cliff whimpered.

Elliot frowned. “I didn’t say that.” Silence from Cliff. Elliot sighed and grasped Cliff’s hand in his own. “Cliff, Cliffy, can you look at me?” It took a second, but fever-bright, hazel eyes eventually focused on Elliot. “You’re my boyfriend. I want you to be okay. Can you at least try to trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Cliff whispered, voice hurt.

“Then let me care about you.”

Cliff fell quiet again and Elliot sat back but kept Cliff’s hand in his. Cliff had his eyes closed, but it didn’t do much to hide the tears that escaped from the corners of them. Elliot didn’t say anything, just brushed them off of Cliff’s cheeks with his sleeve. Once Cliff was asleep, Elliot finally allowed his own silent tears to fall.

Eventually a CNA came to bring Cliff down to the short-stay unit. She rolled Cliff’s stretcher down the hall and into an elevator. Cliff looked nervous and kept glancing at Elliot, making sure he was still right next to him. Elliot always was. They got to a small room that had a real hospital bed in it and the CNA and Elliot both helped Cliff take two steps from the stretcher onto the bed. It was painful for Elliot to see how difficult even this brief transfer was for Cliff, and Cliff started another one of his long coughing spasms afterwards. Elliot rubbed Cliff’s arm, unsure what else he could possibly do to help. “Water,” Cliff croaked hoarsely between deep, rattling coughs.

“Sure. Um…” Elliot looked around him but this room was barely more than an ER bay. It didn’t even have windows. “Let me go check,” he said, and went to go look for the nurse’s station. There were two tired and rather bored looking, middle aged women sitting at computers at the end of the hall. “Excuse me? My boyfriend just got here and he could use some water…”

“I’m almost there,” one of the nurses said, which Elliot thought was a weird thing to say when she very much wasn’t almost there. Regardless, they didn’t seem to like him hovering very much so Elliot went back to Cliff’s room. There was nowhere for him to sit, so he stood at the bedside. Cliff had managed to stop coughing at least.

The nurse, despite her indifferent demeanor, did show up with a little bin that contained hospital socks, meds and a large plastic jug of water. “Clifford Barrows, hmm? I’m Carey. And you are…?” She raised an eyebrow at Elliot.

Suddenly feeling extra protective, Elliot quickly said, “His boyfriend.”

“Alright. Mr. Barrows, are you okay to have Elliot in here?”

Cliff nodded a yes. Elliot thought it was so weird to hear Cliff called by his last name. They seemed too young for that.

“Well, your boyfriend will have to leave after I finish this admission paperwork as visiting hours are over soon, but remind me to get you a chair for tomorrow,” Carey said. She started a myriad of questions, which included Cliff’s emergency contact.

“Make it Elliot,” Cliff said quickly, looking at him. “Um, will my dad know I’m here?”

“You’re eighteen, right? Not unless you tell him,” Carey said. “But I see your dad is the primary insurance holder so he may see the invoice after you’re discharged. It shouldn’t show any details though.”

Cliff grimaced but nodded. At least there would be no confrontation in the actual hospital, Elliot thought to himself. Carey kept asking questions, which ranged from did Cliff smoke to could he walk up a flight of stairs to did he have any plans to hurt himself right now. They seemed a little ridiculous to Elliot, but Cliff was able to answer all of them with simple yes’s and no’s pretty quickly since he was for the most part entirely healthy.

“You’re easy,” Carey said, winking at Cliff. “Boyfriend? Visiting hours are over now honey, so you say your goodbyes and you can come back at 8am tomorrow morning.” Elliot thought she was kind of like those old ladies at diners who yelled at you for your order but called you honey so you couldn’t feel totally attacked.

He nodded and gave Cliff a quick hug. He thought about kissing him, but Cliff didn’t like to be kissed in front of other people so he just squeezed Cliff’s hand instead. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he promised. “Get some rest and tell them if you don’t feel good, okay?”

“Okay,” Cliff said. He looked scared, so Elliot hugged him again and kissed the top of his head this time.

“I love you,” Elliot said. “I know you can be strong for me. You’ve got your phone right here.”

Elliot didn’t look back as he left, because he could feel Cliff’s kicked puppy expression trailing him and knew if he did, it would be ten times harder to leave. He walked to the parking lot without thinking, got in his car, and drove home without Cliff beside him. He made it to the park a block away from his parents’ house before he pulled over and cried for a solid ten minutes.

Cliff was going to be okay, Elliot told himself. Cliff was stronger than he seemed, and realistically Elliot couldn’t be there for him every second of the way. But he’d promised Cliff they weren’t going to the hospital, and then he promised Cliff that he’d be right there next to him the whole time. He’d broken both of these promises and now Cliff was sleeping in a hospital bed, in a tiny room with no windows and only a crotchety old lady to keep an eye on him. Elliot felt just terrible and wondered if he’d made the wrong choice dragging Cliff to the ER. All he wanted was for Cliff to be okay, though, and he really hadn’t seemed okay today.

Elliot wiped his tears away and told himself he had to be strong. This seemed so intense and adult, but Elliot couldn’t let it overwhelm him. He tried to remember the coping mechanisms his therapist had taught him back in high school. Deep breaths. One second at a time. He could do it, and so could Cliff. Elliot turned on the car and returned home by himself.

[Part 4]

[cyxk3i]

Couple sketches of Geto going into labor

[uftopia]

Mentally checked out last month this is all I know now

[smalmilk]

some rp stuff over the last few days

and using a cosy scene to study perspective storyboarding :>

[charactersyoudontknow]

“Mentions of…”, “References to…”, “Implied…”

Fucking what year is it? If you’re gonna write Mpreg write it with your full chest 😤 no more cringe, just do it. If people don’t like it then they should know by now that it’s very well possible to blacklist/mute terms OR exclude certain tags. I fucking NEVER wanna see y’all deny your true selves.

👏 WRITE THAT MPREG 👏

[the-duchess-of-domination]

the sickfic to end all sickfics

i will never get tired of a boy going to bed feeling funny and waking up in the middle of the night feverish and horrifically sick.

he tries to brush off his sour stomach and tiredness and lack of appetite. after all, he’s been working long hours and eating the wrong things. a good night’s sleep is all he needs. he hardly touches his dinner and is in bed by 7:30.

he falls asleep quickly next to you, but his temperature rises and leaves him with feverish, confused dreams. you’re awoken by him mumbling deliriously, and when you ask him what’s the matter he starts muttering incoherent sentences that don’t seem to connect or conclude. you switch on a bedside lamp, and examine the pallor of his sweat-slicked face while using your palm to feel his forehead. he’s absolutely burning hot. his eyes, heavylidded, flutter.

“i don’t feel good” he manages to tell you through dry lips. his breaths come shallow and out of his mouth. you feel so sorry for him but can’t help but find him irresistible in such a weak state. you ask him where he isn’t feeling good, brushing back his bangs.

“stomach” is all he says. you probe further and ask him what kind of stomach ache it is, and with a heavy swallow he says “nauseous” and that “everything is spinning.” you lie there with him until his saliva is too much for his own mouth, and you have to help him to the bathroom. you stay by his side until he thinks he’s done.

the next morning doesn’t fare much better. he got sick a couple more times in the night, and is still running a fever. he mumbles incoherent thoughts about having to call into work sick, so worried about having to take a sick day, about how much he’ll be missing at work. he tosses layers of blankets to the floor and removes his pajamas, complaining about how hot it is. within fifteen minutes he is shivering and you have to help him put his pajamas back on.

he goes a couple hours without throwing up, and you suggest crackers. he manages to keep those down, and before long he agrees to a can of chicken soup. when you come to place the tray over his lap, he is lying there staring off into space looking so miserable and pale. you hope the soup will give a little color to his face.

he slurps the soup down to its bottom. you’re glad to see him eating, and after he’s done you take the bowl to wash. as you’re doing the dishes, you hear him coughing. you think he might be trying to clear his throat.

you hear him start to retch.

you leave the sink and come back into the bedroom. his head is hung over a trash can. he looks up.

“im sorry,” he mutters. “im so sorry. i didn’t mean to.”

this sight absolutely breaks your heart. in this woozy state he feels the need to apologize, worried about upsetting or offending you for throwing up the soup you made. you rub circles on his back and hush him as he apologizes again and again and again. after he’s done you tuck him back up, kissing his burning forehead. you sit at his bedside to play with his hair and make him sleepy. he goes in and out of sleep, and senses when you’re not there. when he wakes he weakly cries out for you, begging for you to make it all better. all you can do is pet his hair and shush him, hoping it’ll all be over soon.

[tiny-loves-rubs-deactivated2026]

Okay, belly kink community...

we need to have a talk

It has become very clear to me that very few of you actually understand how to write a quality belly rub beyond just the obligatory “hand goes on round object and makes a circle.”

This is a travesty. This must be corrected immediately.

so I’m here to help with that today [holds up a clipboard] let’s get started.

The tummy is...?

swollen • stretched • tight • bulging • packed • heavy • grumbling/rumbling/gurgling • churning • stuffed • uncomfortable • sated • warm • rounded • bloated • distended • queasy • snug • achy

stop with this bland “big,” “round,” “gurgly” nonsense! those words are fine but use them sparingly. More personality! Better descriptors!

The caretaker...

touched • rubbed • kneaded • massaged • stroked • smoothed their palm over • felt with their fingers • worked against a cramp • chased away a twinge • soothed a tight spot • eased the ache • patted • pressed • held

They did this...

with broad circles • small circles • back and forth • under the curve • over the curve • against the side • atop the crest • under the ribs • around the navel • across the lower belly • soothingly • encouragingly • with amusement • in concern

If I see anyone daring to use the abominations “poked” or “prodded” on a Tummy In Need, I will personally come to your blog and arrest you.

The belly owner...

groaned • grunted • huffed • wheezed • hummed • murmured • hiccuped • belched/burped (or stifled one) • sighed • moaned • whimpered • arched into the touch • squirmed • shifted • stretched out • looked dazed • looked relieved • grimaced • relaxed • melted • cuddled closer • shrank away • rolled over • blushed

yes they are are part of this equation too!! The tummy is a vital, precious part of the person who owns it; Do Not leave them out of this. the way their belly looks/sounds is irrelevant if they don’t feel and react accordingly!

Hopefully you are now Armed and Ready to go out and Write Those Good Rubs! Godspeed to you all — have fun!

[commorsicoclub]

Reblogging for future use.

[spinzolliii]

There’s something about a whumpee just sitting down. Not fainting, necessarily. Maybe they’re just about to faint, and they quietly just kneel on the ground at a time and place that doesn’t make sense. They don’t even have the capacity or willingness to articulate why they need to abruptly stop and sit. Maybe they’re catatonic while the others look at them.

Maybe a caretaker can see the dull, vacant look in their eyes and immediately senses that something is seriously wrong. Maybe the fainting comes just a few moments later.