sick fic city @sickficcity - Tumblr Blog

again and again and again

author's note: i listened to the poll and wrote a dimi fic with cursed food! and if there's any interest in a part two... just let me know...

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Hadramir has taken far stupider assignments than this.

It’s not great pay, and he knows a lot of people said no before him. But beggars can’t be choosers, and he needs the small amount of coin the job will bring. Plus, he doesn’t mind walking or exploring caverns. He got some information for context: that livestock have been going missing, there’s been strange smells near the cavern, and the locals think there used to be someone— or something— living in there.

Dimi has taken much, much worse. He can take this, no problem.

The road was long and the air was freezing cold before he got there. He didn’t wear too much, because he knew he’d transition into his wolf form as soon as he arrived, which is exactly what he does.

When he gets to the mouth of the cave he’s been directed to, he lets himself shift. He knows by the scent of the caverns that he’s in the right place. The smell carried on the wind is heavy and sweet and thick and cloying with rot— but— also—

He makes his way inside, paws tearing up dirt and stone. His claws click on the ground as he starts sniffing around, listening to the first chamber. There’s drips of water, tiny scuffles. There's something compelling him inside. The smell gets stronger, coating his tongue and the back of his throat with a greasy, sickly-sweet heft. His stomach growls with hunger for smelling it.

Moving into the cavern deeper in search of any potential combatants, Dimi keeps his head low, his body bowed. His ears twitch at every single sound, even the scrapes of his own paws.

He thinks he can smell something—

He can smell food.

Dimi pushes into the next chamber, but it’s mostly empty. The third chamber, however, has an altar at the center. His werewolf eyes can tell, even in the dimness, that there’s an offering there. There’s several plates set out. One has a slab of roasted meat, dark around the trim, edges glistening with cooled fat. Another has a loaf of dense, pale bread, its crust cracked and multicolored. There’s another plate of small, round things— maybe pastries?— that are sticky and shining with something that catches the dim light his werewolf eyes can catch in the cavern. Beside them is a clay jug with a cork stopper in it.

Dimi’s stomach growls with hunger. He stalks forward in his werewolf form, pushing his sharp nails into the hunk of meat, grabbing it up, bringing it to his face, sniffing it.

He can’t tell what sort of meat it is, or where— or when— it’s from. His mouth fills with hungry saliva as he lunges to the altar, claws scraping when he grabs the hunk of meat fully and shoves it into his mouth. A huge bite tears free with a thick, wet, fibrous resistance. Grease and salt and meat fill his mouth, laced with the strange sweetness he can smell in the air.

It’s just so good. His wolf-self loves it so much. He doesn’t chew much— he doesn’t really need to. As a wolf, Dimi can swallow huge, thick, heavy gulps of unchewed meat. He barely pauses between bites, tearing into the next piece over and over and over. The slab of greasy, fatty meat disappears quickly, with a strange sense of urgency.

When it’s gone, he turns on the loaf of bread. He bites into it with his wolf teeth, sinking through the dense, thick crust. His jaw has to work hard to chew at it. It’s thick and dry, so he doesn’t want to spend too much time on it. He forces it down in large, uneven, mostly-unchewed chunks, swallowing them thickly down into his belly.

The bread is gone in a few huge bites. The pastries are next, and they’re softer, but maybe too soft. It’s easy for him to swallow them down. They’re honey-sweet and extremely rich, sticky and coating his mouth with sugar as he gulps them down. He lets out a rumbling belch, then dives back in, pushing all the pastries into his mouth until they’re gone.

He feels parched. When he lifts up the jug and uncorks it, he pushes the mouth towards his own. It’s wine, thick and sugary, leaving a film over his tongue, inside his mouth, and down his throat as he gulps it all down.

Dimi eats until there’s nothing left to eat. Then, he licks the dirty plates clean. It’s only then that he finally stops feeling so ravenously hungry.

Instead, he just feels a little full.

The front of the altar has some writing on it in a language Dimi doesn’t even recognize, let alone speak. He examines it with confusion from his wolf-eyes before he decides to move on. The food is gone, and he has a job to do, technically, even though it seems like the caverns are not currently occupied.

His stomach packed full with his impromptu meal, Dimi keeps moving through the caves. He's searching, but still not finding anything, shuffling into the next chamber, and the next, and the next.

Over the next couple of hours, though, as he hunts through the caverns, the weight in his stomach gets more and more and more uncomfortable. It could be indigestion. It’s all just sitting there in his belly in a huge lump, full but strangely still and unmoving. He starts to suspect it’s too still and unmoving, strangely quiet and like he’s not really digesting what he ate. The pressure is getting more and more intense with every passing minute, his belly feeling like it’s stretched slightly with everything he ate.

After a while, he starts to feel a little uneasy, wondering why nothing is happening inside his stomach at all. Everything he ate should be moving by now, but his belly isn’t really doing anything. There’s slow gurgles now and then, but otherwise, it’s all just sitting there.

He tries to give himself a little more time, rubbing his upset stomach as he moves through the caverns, but it still doesn’t seem like it’s working. His stomach feels more and more heavy, more and more stretched out. It’s becoming bloated against his ribs, packed tight with everything he’d just forced into it.

Nothing is moving still, though.

Nothing he ate is starting to digest even a little bit. It’s not shifting, not settling. After a while, it feels like his stomach has given up on trying completely, and everything he ate is congealing into one disgusting mass, jamming up the pit of his stomach and making his upper belly bloat horrendously.

Everything is just sitting in there for way too long. The lack of movement is making him a little nervous; it feels ominous to wait for his belly to shift and never feel anything really move in any significant way. It’s like everything he’d eaten before has combined into a huge, dense, unmoving weight under his ribs, refusing to digest— or even budge.

Dimi comes to a slow stop in the next chamber as his stomach continuously gains heft and weight and discomfort. The weight of his belly comes to a stop with him, but it does so sluggishly, as if it’s dragging behind him, a still, heavy anchor that refuses to move through him.

Frustrated, his wolf shakes himself, trying to activate his body into digesting the offerings.

Instead, the tastes of the meat and the bread and the honeyed pastries come up immediately. It gives a slight acidic turn with the sugar-wine, in addition to the grease, the salt, and the sickly-sweetness.

A low bubbling sound rumbles in Dimi’s throat. It’s almost a wolfish growl, but not quite. He shifts again on his paws, standing bipedal upright, as an uncomfortable knot twists in his heavy belly.

His stomach still doesn’t feel like it’s digesting at all. There’s no active progression happening yet, even though there should be. He shifts on his paws, one of them coming down to rest against his belly as he lets out a low whine. The wolf should be built to digest things like this— to gorge, to indulge, to consume, to digest, to handle this.

Still, as he rubs his clawed paw over his swollen belly, nothing moves through him.

Dimi takes another step, but his stomach just feels so full and uncomfortable now. It's been getting worse for hours, and getting more upset with every minute. He has to stop. His abdomen feels so tight and crampy, as if he packed himself full and ate way too much, even though his wolf capacity should be more than this.

A faint shift moves in his tummy. It’s a slow, uneven guuuuuuuurgle that rolls through his stomach and then stops as abruptly as it started. His stomach turns, tightening around what he ate from the altar, before a strong, wet, upset ripple moves through his belly.

“Shit,” Dimi curses, coming to a stop. He sits down heavily on the ground and can feel his stomach tightening more, muscles trying to work, but nothing will digest, and it’s aching. Everything he ate is just starting to very slowly churn inside of him as his belly tightens and gurgles again. It’s strange to feel it rumbling like this when everything is really just sitting there in a huge, dense, heavy mass. There’s nothing indicating that digestion is even trying to start happening.

There’s an unexpected pressure building in his stomach. He knows he should be digesting by now. He just feels so unexpectedly full. Stroking across the bottom of his belly, he can feel the muscles contract and cramp slightly, but there’s still no progressive movement. It feels like his belly doesn't know what to do with what he ate, like it’s never digested before, and he groans slightly, leaning forward and kneading at his stomach, trying to encourage it into action.

Something inside him shifts, and his stomach gurgles loudly this time. It echoes off the walls, bouncing back to him distorted and amplified, the snarling growl of his unsettled stomach vibrating around him.

Dimi shivers a little. He had felt so compelled to eat all the offerings, but now, thinking about them, he’s starting to feel a little weird. The meat, the bread, the pastries, the wine— it’s all sitting so heavily in his belly, hot and uncomfortable and thick. He shifts a bit, expecting his stomach to slosh with him, but it just sort of rolls inside him instead.

His guts rumble a little. It doesn’t feel like digestion yet still; it feels like upset pressure and pain that’s starting to grow, expanding and pushing outward against his belly. He blows out a hard breath before his next breath hitches. He puts his hand against his belly as it feels like it pulses, and he groans again before his belly gives a loud, thick, uneasy grumble.

Dimi’s body lurches, hitches, then seizes. He doesn’t know how, but his muscles all move at once to force him back into his human form. His spine arches, his joints crack, and a low, startled, distressed sound tears out of his throat as he starts being forcibly transformed back into a human.

As soon as he’s getting his human stomach back, Dimi’s gut snarls, gurgling and huge. The pressure expands and spikes; everything he gulped down feels heavy and sloshy inside of him all of a sudden, too much to fit in his human belly, too much to digest, apparently.

His bones reshape, and his belly tightens as his body compresses and the contents of his wolf stomach are forced into his smaller human belly.

Dimi’s stomach lurches hard. His legs buckle, and he falls to the ground. Everything that had been sitting in his belly, heavy and unmoving and packed low in his tummy, gets forced more tightly together by the way his abdomen compresses around it. There’s not enough space and no room to settle.

His stomach heaves upwards, and his ribs shorten in length as he becomes a human. His belly gets compressed as the space inside him shrinks, and he groans.

“Ughhhhhh…” His breath hitches again as his stomach growls loudly. “Fuck. Fuck. Mmmm………”

His hands— hands, not paws— hit the ground. He sucks in a sharp breath as a slow churn rolls through his stomach. It’s a heavy surge that roils inside him without actually going anywhere or doing anything productive. It feels like it’s just swirling around in place like a circling whirlpool in his belly.

A deep belch rumbles out of him before his stomach gurgles even more loudly this time. The sounds keep bouncing off the walls and echo back at him, and he clutches his stomach automatically, knowing instinctively that something is wrong.

His belly feels so firm— too firm, without any kind of give, and he tries to knead the bloated upper swell of his stomach to work up some of the upset rumbling or maybe get the food digesting. It doesn’t work, there’s no give at all. He presses harder, trying to stroke firmly down over his whole stomach, down to the distended lower curve and back up, but his belly doesn’t sink in the way it should after he eats something. It resists and pushes back. It’s so tight and packed that he feels like he’s somehow at the limit of what he can eat, even though he really doesn’t think he ate that much.

Something must have been wrong with that food. Maybe the words he couldn’t read meant something. Maybe it actually was really old food that's gone bad. Maybe it was cursed and that's why he felt that he had to eat it—

His stomach lurches again, more aggressively this time. He swallows reflexively over and over as his tummy hitches upwards and saliva floods his mouth, and he groans, clamping his hand over his mouth.

The nausea only keeps growing. It’s just lingering inside of him. There’s a constant, low, wet churning starting to swirl in the pit of his stomach. His belly isn’t moving or digesting in any productive way, not like it should be. It feels more like everything inside of him is just starting to push around and around without actually moving through him in a productive way.

Another gurgle, even louder this time, rumbles through his belly. Dimi clutches his stomach as it gets more upset, feeling it shift under his human hand. A thick, sluggish burble ripples right under his hand, then stops, like his stomach is trying to move and digest and is failing to do so.

“Okay, maybe… Maybe I just ate too fast,” he mumbles to himself. His stomach rolls again, pressing up under his ribs. “Or maybe it wasn’t good. Maybe it was old. Probably stupid to eat food I found in a—” His stomach growls, shifting in place under his hand, and he hiccups, rubbing across the center of his abdomen, bloated and sick. “—a stupid cave.”

His tummy feels packed tight with meat, bread, pastries, honey, wine. It’s a heavy, stubborn weight, like a rock in his stomach, and he tries to take a deep breath that only serves to make a low, wet gurgle bubble through the pit of his stomach.

Dimi’s hand moves instinctively to the lower swell of his belly. He’s still surprised at how round, firm, and bloated he is. Rubbing his stomach slowly, he finds that the pressure and massaging doesn’t give him any relief. It feels more like his stomach is pushing back against him, refusing to digest anything he’s put in it. Everything he ate is turning inside him, rolling in place in increasingly tumultuous swirls.

A soft burble ripples up, and Dimi swallows thickly. His mouth tastes bitter and sweet at the same time.

“Fuck,” he curses again, rocking a little as he wraps his arms around his belly. His stomach feels like a tight, compressed, upset, unmoving orb stuffed full of heavy food and wine.

Dimi swallows thickly again. It’s a heavy, wet sound that rolls down his throat. Every bite of meat, every dense bite of bread, every sticky pastry, every gulp of sweet wine— it’s all packed too heavily into his tummy, too much— and too wrong— to stay down and be digested. His human hand presses tentatively into the lower swell of his belly, and he feels a sluggish, slow, wet, useless roll move under his fingers, attempting digestion that doesn’t seem like it’ll ever come.

An unhappy, churning gurgle rumbles through the pit of his belly. The sound echoes off the cavern walls around him. He tries to rub his belly, kneading the bulge of his stomach in the hopes that the pressure will release a little, but still, nothing happens. His tummy won’t give.

A sudden, violent flip in his belly makes him groan. His stomach contracts and sloshes, rolling in place. A tight, uncomfortable belch bubbles up. It’s thick and bitter, and all he can taste is rancid meat and sickly-sweet dough. The mouthful is sour and acidic, and he groans as his breath hitches.

It had to have been a trap. He got fucking tricked, he ate— he ate so many bad things, and they’re just starting to destroy his stomach.

“Fuck,” Dimi whines. “What the fuck?”

His stomach feels like it's full of gurgling rocks. It churns before snarling angrily, his guts curdling and lower belly coiling tight, and he groans again, pressing his hands hard against his belly.

Dimi slowly sinks down to sit on the ground in the cave he’s found himself in. His hands find his stomach again, stroking in and out over the front. Everything he ate is just sitting there and churning, so packed in that he doesn’t know what to do. He tries to press more firmly in his strokes over his belly, but it’s so full and uncomfortable that nothing really gets better.

A low, grumbling gurgle moves through the pit of his stomach. His hands instinctively hold onto the lower curve of his bloated stomach, clutching his belly before he starts slowly trying to rub it again. The unsettled weight inside of him barely moves, as if the gurgles are coming from far deeper inside of it— or beneath the mass inside him, somehow.

Pressure builds up under his ribs. Sitting on the ground like this, he can look down at his belly and see how round it is, sitting heavily in his lap.

Dimi sucks in and swallows a few gulps of air. Forcing it down into his belly, he’s hoping to work up a belch that might help, but instead, the air just feels like it’s packing him tighter. Dimi shifts, clutching his belly, trying to work it up, and a thicker, louder, deeper gurgle rolls through his lower stomach. He can feel it bubbling under his hand before it stops abruptly, as if it hit something solid and refused to move any further.

Desperate for any sort of relief, Dimi presses down on his stomach, kneading into the lower curve where he felt the gurgling, hoping he can encourage it to push along through his system and give him relief.

“Fuck, I don’t feel good,” Dimi groans out loud to nobody. His words echo off the cavern walls. “What the fuck did I eat?”

His only answer is an upset, sluggish roll twisting in his belly. He can feel what he ate trying to move through him and failing. His stomach feels like a muddy swamp being stirred so, so slowly.

A deep belch forces its way up unexpectedly. His stomach turns, and he groans, leaning forward to massage his belly and coax it up. It’s slow and thick, like it has to fight out of him, and when it finally rumbles out of his mouth, he can taste all that greasy meat and sour wine and sickly sweetness again.

His stomach shifts under his hand as a gurgle pulses through it again. His lower belly cramps before another thick, sluggish churn twists through him. It feels like everything he ate is shifting slightly against itself, pressing and sliding together without actually starting to digest.

A gurgling series of bubbles rumbles through the center of his belly. He kneads into his gut just above his navel, trying to help himself digest or at least to calm it down, but all he succeeds in doing is dragging a louder gurgle through his stomach.

He curls around his belly on the ground, tilting to his side to lay down. He’s starting to feel queasy, and he rubs his stomach harder, groaning, “Come on. Just relax.”

Deep in the pit of his belly, he feels a massive shift. It’s like a slow, heavy flip of his stomach contents as everything inside him is forced to turn over itself. There’s a thick heaviness growling and sour in the lower mass of his tummy, and he kneads at his belly harder.

His stomach snarls. It’s a hollow, gurgling groan, and he shifts a little, sitting up to pull his bag off of his shoulder. He gingerly dresses himself in a tunic and rough trousers, leaving the fastens on the trousers open to make space for his upset tummy.

He keeps digging through his bag, then thinks he knows what he can do to make his stomach settle. He has food and potions in here, too. He just needs to get a couple of them to go down and stay down to make them work.

The first thing he pulls out is his travel biscuits. They’re dried-out and rock-hard. He has to take a steadying breath just to get them in, his stomach growling again, before he chews each small bite for a long time to force them down, and his mouth is already so dry. In his pack he also has some salt pork, tough and chewy and salty. It’s an effort to chew everything right now, and his stomach sends up a violent gurgle, but he forces down the stringy salted meat anyways. He feels compelled to. He just has to eat it.

Between the dry biscuits and the salt pork, he’s feeling thirsty, too. Dimi pulls his flask out and chugs about half of his water, gulping it down into his belly. It rumbles again, and he can feel the water combining with the hardtack to expand in his stomach, absorbing the liquid and becoming a heavy, thick, dense weight, adding to the lumps in his stomach.

Dimi lowers his water flask and takes a deep breath. He looks in his bag for something that won’t be so heavy, wondering what the wolf might like. He’s got trail mix— a small satchel filled with bits of apricots, figs, raisins, almonds, walnuts, small pieces of bread and bits of cheese. It’s probably his best option.

And, for some reason, he needs to eat it.

Dimi pulls out a handful of his trail mix. It’s sweet and hopefully gentle and easy to snack on, and he pushes in bite after bite, unable to stop himself.

His stomach flips again, feeling like everything turns over itself. But he’s so full— he’s so full, he doesn’t know how he didn’t realize, and his stomach is feeling so, so upset. How did he not notice?

Dimi slows down eating the trail mix. It doesn’t really matter; it’s almost gone anyway. Everything he ate is sitting so heavily in his stomach, still refusing to digest. His upper belly feels oily and bloated; his lower tummy is gassy and crampy.

“What the fuck was that?” Dimi asks out loud to nobody. He wishes he could go back in time and stop himself from eating from the altar, but it’s done now.

Maybe he just needs everything he ate to settle down. Or digest. Or just— Maybe he should just get it out.

Dimi digs through his bag again. He’s looking for something different this time, and he pulls out a stomach healing potion. He’s gotten sick enough times as a wolf that he keeps one on himself at all times; he swirls the bottle around, observing the thick, syrupy, prune-thick potion. It’s meant to get things moving and aid digestion, and nothing is really digesting; this is probably what he should be drinking. He just overate. That’s it. That has to be it.

The pit of his stomach feels so heavy and swollen. He slowly strokes across his belly as he uncorks his potion with his teeth. A thick, sluggish gurgle moves through his tummy, and he shifts again, sitting up and scooting to sit back against the rough cavern wall.

His stomach still isn’t really moving that much— at least, not as much as it should be. There’s occasional shifting, random rumbles in the upper swell of his tummy, but it mostly just feels like everything is sitting wrong in his belly in a huge, dense lump. His pack is spilled open beside him, ration wrappers scattered. He can feel everything inside of him, his stomach obviously stretched and packed when he keeps rubbing it. It doesn’t even feel that bloated, necessarily— though there is some bloat— it’s just so full.

A low gurgle ripples through his lower belly, and Dimi exhales slowly through his mouth, eyes closing, head tilting back against the wall. The stomach potion is still clutched in his hand, and he takes a few more deep breaths through his mouth before bringing it to his lips.

The potion is meant to help. That’s what it’s for— moving things along, helping him digest, easing his upset stomach when things don’t sit right.

As he gulps it down, his stomach flips again. Another low churn moves through his belly, shifting everything in his belly from the pit up to his ribs, and then it swirls.

Dimi drops the vial aside. Both of his hands come to his belly now, palms pressing in firmly as he strokes in and out, trying to get the potion to settle and work— trying to get anything in his tummy to settle and work.

A little rumble moves through his stomach again, and a hiccup burps upwards that tastes like fatty meat and fruit and bread and the oily herbal potion. Dimi breathes out again, continuing to rub his belly as the potion hits and the mass inside his stomach lurches.

A loud, rumbling gurgle tears deep through his guts as a violent churn twists his stomach. It’s the most movement he’s felt so far, and he feels a brief moment of flickering relief that something is actually moving.

It’s only a moment of relief, though. Because then he realizes that it’s continuing to move.

His stomach shifts again, and a thick, liquidy gurgle rumbles through him. The next heavy, sluggish rumble snarls through the center of his belly. It drags upwards, burbling through the mass of food inside him and forcing its way up.

And then another gurgle.

And then another.

They’re non-stop, basically overlapping each other. The potion almost instantly makes his stomach start reacting violently around everything sitting inside him, and his guts rumble loudly, a series of burbles and liquid sloshing as some of what he ate is forced to move through his lower tummy.

Another loud snarl ripples through his intestines. Dimi feels a surge of pressure, and he groans again, rubbing below his navel. He can feel so much gurgling and bubbling right there, the potion shoving things through him so quickly. He can't stop it when his tummy rumbles again, churns, and then makes him force out a huge, stomach-turning fart.

“Shit,” he curses as he looks around. It feels like too much to hope that this place would have a privy, but— he is alone.

He doesn't really have an option anyway. His guts gurgle loudly again, pressure racing through them, bubbles popping and snarling thickly through his intestines, and he yanks his trousers down as he rises up into a squat, kneading his belly as it growls angrily at him.

His stomach turns, belly grumbling, before his lower half opens up. A rush of liquid forces itself out of him and onto the ground, his stomach swirling to push up so many more gurgles as it happens.

Dimi groans, planting one hand on the ground and using the other to stroke his lower tummy, trying to get everything moving through. He closes his eyes and another waterfall of diarrhea comes out of him as he moans.

At least, he hopes this will make his stomach feel better. Just get it all out.

His stomach squelches before he bears down, forcing out another wave of diarrhea in liquidy chunks. It smells horrible, but he keeps stroking his belly firmly across the swell, trying to make everything come out.

Once his belly snarls and seems to come to a stop, Dimi takes a deep breath.

It’s hard to take a deep breath.

Confused, he rubs slowly across his belly again. It doesn’t feel like he just got a lot out. Somehow, despite how much he expelled it doesn’t feel less full at all; if anything, he feels more full. For a second, it felt like he’d been able to release something, but now his stomach is bulging again, fuller and tighter and heavier than it was before he started shitting.

“What the hell?” he curses, stroking slowly across his belly as it churns again. When he bears down again, he manages to push out even more, but his stomach just still feels so swollen. There’s barely any sense of relief before his stomach is just so full all over again.

A sick belch rumbles up out of him. His insides swirl, sloshing as he tries to shakily stand up. His tummy is so full, so upset, and he moans before another queasy burp rumbles out of him, tasting salty and bitter and thick.

“Fuck,” he curses again, rubbing hard at his upset stomach. He definitely must have ate too much. His stomach hitches under his hand, lurching upwards, and he swallows it back down before hiccuping.

With another groan, Dimi shuffles away from the mess he’s made on the ground and kneels down on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. He massages his belly, feeling it rumble under his hand; he feels so stuffed, and his stomach definitely isn’t digesting. Maybe it just needs to come out another way. He definitely feels queasy enough for that to be a possibility.

The potion is definitely getting things moving inside him. It feels like his entire belly is churning now, swirling constantly and sending out a non-stop string of gurgling rumbles. He can feel it continuously rippling under his hand, he’s packed so tight.

His stomach lurches upwards again with a nauseating belch. Dimi leans forward, gagging, then spitting up a trickle of vomit onto the floor. He sniffles, then gags again, trying to cough the contents of his stomach up so this torture will end. His insides are churning, nauseating swirls in his belly as it rolls again. There’s so much pressure inside of him, his guts cramping again at the same time a violent snarl ripples up to his throat.

Dimi kneads into his stomach. It feels like everything inside him is moving now but refusing to digest, like he ate three dinners’ worth of food in one go, and it’s too upset, shifting around and around and around, burbling non-stop.

He catches himself against the wall as he slides to the side. His stomach sloshes, all the food in him refusing to settle even after everything he forced out the other end. As he finds his way to the ground, he gets onto his knees, his hands clutching his thighs, leaning forward over his stomach and panting. His mouth keeps filling with saliva that he lets drool out of him onto the stone and dirt below, unwilling to keep swallowing it into his packed belly.

His stomach roils, lurching upwards again, and he clutches it in one hand with a groan as he leans further forward. He can’t get as far as he expects to be able to. His middle feels huge, taking up the space in his lap. It feels like his belly is bulging, and he groans, rubbing harder across the middle of it as everything inside pitches from side to side like sloshing, gurgling waves.

There’s barely enough room for everything in his belly. When he burps again, it’s more of a retch, and he feels everything in his stomach lurch upwards. He tries to cough and retch harder to help it along, pushing into the center of his tummy.

A loud, squelching gurgle glugs upwards, his stomach rumbling under his hand as he feels it hitch up again. This time, he feels the thickness in the back of his throat, and he bows forward, clutching his stomach, to vomit up a huge, chunky wave of puke onto the ground. It’s barely digested, clumps of food sitting in the soupy mess of wine and water and bile and potion, and he pants, vomit dangling from his lips, before his belly lurches upwards again and he leans forward again, a fountain of vomit pouring out of him without much effort at all this time.

“Gods,” Dimi groans, clutching his stomach as it continues to churn, forcing up another belching gush. The puddle on the ground is getting bigger and bigger, but he can’t get himself to move as his stomach jerks under his hand, gurgles loudly, and he gags, choking up another rush of vomit onto the ground, tasting like bitter wine and sour meat and moldy bread.

The contents of his stomach just won’t stop moving now. He has a brief sensation of his belly emptying as he coughs and retches up another huge waterfall of sludgy vomit from the pit of his stomach. It’s almost a relief.

Then, right under his hand, he can feel his stomach expanding.

Dimi looks down, confused and shocked, to see his belly stretching. Inside, it feels like his stomach is getting full again— or more full than it even had been, even though he’s not eating anything more. He should be emptying out, not filling up.

Everything sort of starts to click together as his belly churns, massive pressure building under his ribs and around his navel while his tummy expands just to try and take the sheer amount of dense food and liquid rumbling and appearing and multiplying inside of him. His stomach quickly gets round and firm under his hand, so full that the food inside him is barely able to swirl around like it has been.

The food he ate— it had to have been cursed. He can’t think of any other explanation. And he thinks it might be cursed to keep going back into his stomach after it comes out— maybe to even double or triple or something every time it does, based on how extraordinarily full he feels comparatively. There doesn’t feel like there’s any room left in his belly anymore.

A violent, aggressive gurgle forces its way through his middle. There’s barely any space for it to even be churning, he’s so full.

His guts gurgle again, loud and wet and thick. He groans, pushing his hand into his lower stomach, trying to knead his cramping belly. His nausea surges again at the same time that a huge rumble of pressure burbles through his guts, but he shakes his head, clenching tight and clamping his hand over his mouth.

The more that comes out, he thinks, the worse it gets— so he can’t let anymore come out. He just needs to— to keep everything inside until it digests, and then the curse should be broken. Right?

Dimi wraps his arms around his stomach, rubbing hard at the sides of his swollen belly. It feels so full, and it’s churning so much, even though there’s just not enough space for everything. His nausea spikes again, his guts gurgling, and he strokes in firmer sweeps of his hands, still bent on his knees, trying to keep everything inside of him and stop it from moving and swirling and sloshing so much.

A liquidy burble rumbles through his belly, squelching as it gets higher up towards his throat and he has to forcibly swallow it back. The liquid must be multiplying, too; he’s stuffed with all the food and wine, sloshy and so nauseated his vision is kind of splotchy and patchy.

“Mmm…” he groans, rubbing hard in and out over his belly with both hands. His nausea is only growing more by the moment, as is the pressure building up and bubbling in his guts. When his belly flips once more, turning over and over and over itself, his lower belly cramps hard again.

When he shifts, his stomach audibly sloshes again. He groans, letting up a small, rumbly burp that does nothing to relieve the pressure. His guts feel like a boiling pot of stew about to spill over, burbling and bubbling constantly and audibly inside of him.

He shakes his head, breathing out a harsh breath. He has to keep swallowing down thick, sour, bitter saliva when it fills his mouth, his body preparing to eject everything again— but that’s just because it thinks it’ll make him feel better. He can’t convince it of what he knows, that it will only make everything worse.

His stomach cramps hard, and Dimi tries to massage his aching belly to keep everything inside. His lower belly snarls again, though, and a sick fart gurgles out of him. When his tummy grumbles angrily, so full and bloated that he doesn’t even know how it’s all fitting inside him, he makes a small whimper of a sound, massaging his stomach, trying desperately to get it to just calm down.

Instead, everything inside him lurches upwards again. Dimi clamps his hand over his mouth. A long, low belch churns upwards and bursts out of his mouth, and he groans again as his nausea spikes.

“Fuck, I don’t feel good,” Dimi whines, rubbing his belly as hard as he can. It churns in a slow swirl, refusing to digest anything, barely able to move anything inside his stomach. He’s scared of what will happen if he can’t keep everything down, if he’s already this full now.

He looks to his bag, wondering if he can even make it over to it without erupting from one end, or the other, or both. Maybe there’s another potion he can try, one that will get rid of the curse and all the hexed food and bubbling wine inside of him. Burbling pressure snarls through his guts, and he huffs, pushing himself back up to his feet.

His stomach swirls again, everything inside of him turning over itself with a thick gluuuuuuurp that spins in his tummy. He groans, another sick belch rumbling out of him. All the pressure keeps trying to force its way out of him in both directions, but he clenches hard, making his slow, nauseated way back to his bag.

When he gets back to it, he falls down to his knees again. His stomach sloshes, bringing up a thick, heavy burp that almost turns wet at the end.

“No, stop,” Dimi complains, clutching his belly as it hitches upwards again. A huge belch rips out of him, and he whines, “Mmmnnmmm…”

It’s so hard to keep it all inside of him. It wants to come out so badly— it has to come out, he can’t keep it in. He’s so nauseated, he can feel the vomit sitting in the back of his throat, his stomach practically undulating as it tries to push everything up and out. At the same time, his intestines gurgle with the wet thickness snarling through it, and he has to clench again, bending over double, his forehead nearly touching the ground as he clutches his churning stomach and internally begs his body not to throw up or shit.

Panting, Dimi drags himself forward enough to dig through his bag again. He’s got a few options that might help; the Digestive Elixir, which is meant to kickstart digestion in an upset stomach and make everything digest and break down faster; the Purification Tonic, which is supposed to cleanse his body of any toxins and reject anything bad inside of him; or he could try the Warming Draught, meant to soothe cramps, help digestion, and warm his belly like it’s a hot water bottle.

Considering his options for a second too long means that Dimi’s stomach starts to cramp again. There’s no way it can digest everything on its own well enough for him not to get sick again, and if he does get sick again out of either end, he thinks he might just burst in the aftermath.

Dimi grabs for the closest bottle, the Purification Tonic. It’s teal-colored and sharply minty when he uncorks it and brings it up to his mouth. His stomach lurches just thinking of adding anything more into it, but he has to do something, and this will get the cursed toxins out of him. He hopes.

Taking a deep breath, Dimi brings the tonic up to his mouth and chugs it. His throat immediately tightens, his belly lurching and threatening to heave everything back up as soon as the potion slides into him. There’s just no room for it, and he groans, dropping the vial so it smashes on the ground as he swallows over and over and kneads hard across the huge swell of his belly, trying to get the potion to stay down.

The next noise his stomach makes is a snarling gurgle so loud it echoes off the walls again. Dimi pushes his hand over his mouth, burping thickly into his palm, tasting mint and meat, feeling it almost turn into a wet retch at the end. His stomach swirls as he forces everything back down, refusing to settle or digest—

Right, digesting.

Dimi reaches back into his bag and grabs the Digestive Elixir. His belly won’t stop growling, forcing gurgling burps and hiccups up in a continuous train before his guts grumble and he releases another sick fart.

Nothing feels like it’s emptying his stomach. He feels so huge and so sick and so full, he can’t stand it.

Breathing hard, he pulls out the stopper for the Digestive Elixir. He just needs to digest what he can, let the other potions work, get everything out— including the curse— and then he’ll be fine. He has to be, because he doesn’t know any other options here.

The elixir has a fruity scent when he brings it to his lips. It makes him gag again, but he swallows thickly before tossing it back. He has to hold his breath, and still, his gorge rises, trying to push it back out of him. Throwing that empty vial aside, too, Dimi grabs his stomach, rubbing hard across the center to try and get the potions to stay down.

It feels like the strawberry-flavored Digestive Elixir is sitting at the back of his throat. He groans, another heavy gurgle rolling through his belly in a wave as it tries to force it up, but he shakes his head, kneading into his belly right above his navel.

“Stay,” he whimpers before he burps again. A little bit of the elixir comes up in a splash in the back of his throat, and he gulps it back down with a harsh swallow of air that makes his stomach snarl at him.

Dimi sits on the ground with his legs spread, his belly heavy as he strokes in firm circles against the sides, trying to get everything to digest and encourage the potions to work so the curse will leave him.

That’s when, underneath his hands, he can feel his swollen stomach almost tighten, becoming a hard, snarling bulge beneath his palms. He hiccups as another burble rises up, bubbling in the back of his throat.

“What the fucking hells?” he groans as his entire abdomen cramps. His belly is churning inside, non-stop bubbling and gurgling, and now his muscles are contracting tight around his stomach as it tries to force and rush digestion. “Get out of me.”

Another sick belch rolls out of him, tasting like the potions and the food, a nauseating mixture of prunes and mint and strawberry and meat and wine and honey and stomach acid, the burning taste of bile in his chest and throat. Before he can stop it, another rumbling burp comes up.

“Please,” he begs his stomach. “Please. Just relax. It’ll only get worse if—”

He interrupts himself when his belly gurgles, his guts churn, his intestines pop and bubble with gas, and a huge fart rumbles out of him. He reaches back, checking if he started to shit himself, but breathes a sigh of relief when his fingers come back dry.

Dimi’s trousers are undone, but his stomach feels so full that it’s constrained by them anyway. It’s hard to get his hand past the loose waistband, so he moves his hand around to the front and pushes his trousers down. He shouldn’t have bothered putting them on in the first place; he strips them all the way off and stuffs them in his bag. His belly is so bloated and huge that his tunic is tight against it, and he pushes the hem up, rubbing underneath his distended stomach before he strips the tunic off altogether and tosses it to join his trousers and the remaining contents of the bag.

Without any clothes on, Dimi shifts to curl up on the ground again, his legs coming up as high as they can and his arms wrapping around his sloshing, sickly belly. He has to keep swallowing as his mouth floods with saliva over and over and over again. His stomach is gurgling more angrily now as he forces the potions to stay down.

The first potion, the stomach healing potion, has done what it’s meant to do and got things moving— though it doesn’t seem to be aiding digesting too well. Or maybe it is doing it too well, he thinks as his lower belly gurgles again, his intestines ready to burst.

The second potion was meant to cleanse his body of toxins and reject everything bad inside him, and the third was meant to make everything break down faster. Together, the three have got everything in his stomach churning violently, preparing to attempt to digest everything inside of him, but— but he doesn’t think it’s working.

His tummy gurgles angrily again, his middle sloshing around and around as his guts grumble loudly. It’s difficult for his lungs to inflate all the way when he breathes; with every strained breath, he feels his stomach contract. When he continues to rub his belly, he brings a deep, low, wet burp out that almost makes him puke again.

“No,” he groans. “I feel so sick, I don’t…” His churning stomach snarls again before another loud fart comes out. “I don’t feel good, I don’t, I don’t feel good, I—”

He’s cut off by another belch, bigger this time. He keeps trying to rub his belly as hard as he can, desperate in the circles he’s kneading into it, trying to encourage the potions to work and his stomach to digest and the curse to come out. He’s got no idea what to do, he doesn’t know how to overcome this curse as his insides shudder with another gurgling stream of bubbles.

Dimi rubs harder against the side of his stomach, trying so hard to encourage it to digest and calm down. He feels huge as he burps again, a deep belch followed by a deeper fart, and he moans out loud, turning his face into the dirt ground.

“I can’t be sick, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he chants weakly as his stomach keeps furiously shifting back and forth, bubbling inside of him. “Please— Please—”

It feels like his body is preparing to expel everything in him. Maybe the potion that was meant to get the bad stuff out has— has decided that everything is bad— and everything feels bad, so it’s not like he can blame the potion for that— but he does, now that it’s trying to make the entire contents of his stomach revolt and purge out of him instead of processing through him.

His stomach roils again. Everything inside of his belly feels like it keeps shoving itself around, too full to be moving so much, and his nausea spikes again, refusing too leave.

Once again, his stomach lurches upwards, and he groans, clamping his mouth shut, swallowing forcefully. His lower guts grumble at the same time, everything trying to move upwards and downwards at the same time, and he doesn’t want anything to come out, he doesn’t, but his stomach hurts so badly and it’s so hard to keep everything inside of him.

“Gods, please,” Dimi groans before another sick burp rumbles up. His insides keep lurching, trying to heave upwards, and he belches again before he shifts onto his hands and knees. He doesn’t want to be sick, but he’s not sure he can control this situation anymore, can’t have what he wants.

His mind is panicking as he knows— he knows— that everything that leaves his belly will come right back in and doubled, but he really can’t stop it. His stomach is so full and upset that he knows it can’t stay down, or in.

“I shouldn’t have eaten that, I’m sorry,” he begs. “Please, just— just stop, I’m so full, I can’t be sick again, I can’t, please, just let me go.”

He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to. Basically, he’s begging the universe, and every god that has ever existed, and— and his stomach, all at the same time. The nausea and pain are getting so severe that he feels like he’d trade anything to have this end. It feels like he’s going to burst, and he’s not sure he can stop himself from getting sick again.

It’s so hard to breathe. His lungs can’t expand all the way, and he grabs his stomach again, not knowing what else to do. His palm doesn’t even begin to cover the side of his huge belly, despite how big his hands are, and he rubs in another slow, firm circle into the packed, churning swell of his belly. His lower guts gurgle loudly again, a heavy, thick roll that burbles through him and refuses to stop.

The next slosh in his belly pushes everything upwards again. His insides release another low, slow guuuuuuuuuurgle, and he groans, rubbing harder circles into the side of his belly, hoping that it’ll just settle down.

This time, though, when he pushes into his stomach, he feels everything inside slosh again. His tummy twists in response to being kneaded that way, and his nausea spikes, and he moans loudly, wrapping one arm around his stomach, the other still planted on the ground to keep himself upright.

Despite trying to keep everything inside, he can’t help but let all the thick, bitter saliva drool out of his mouth. It’s too much, and he just can’t keep swallowing it.

A louder, wetter, angrier guuuuuurble moves through his belly. It just won’t stop churning, and he whines, spitting right onto the ground. The noise gurgling out of his belly is non-stop; he clutches it, feeling another upset burble ripple through his stomach.

Every movement in his stomach is getting more and more violent. There’s just not enough space in his belly for everything to churn the way it is, but that doesn’t seem to stop it from turning over and over and over itself.

“Gods, it’s too much,” Dimi whimpers over the puddle of saliva in the dirt before he spits again. “It’s too much, I’m going to be sick, I can’t, I feel so sick, I’m—”

Another loud, rumbling gurgle moves through his belly. He rubs slowly across his stomach, but it’s more automatic than anything else now. He just wants it all to stop, and he doesn’t know how. The potions aren’t working, and he’s going to be sick, he knows it, so it’ll get worse— and then what happens—

A heavy, loud gllllluuuuuuurp rolls through his belly so thickly. There’s barely any space for everything to move, but it still swirls and churns, the potions making his tummy too active, too upset, on top of everything else—

His mouth floods with saliva once again that he lets drool onto the ground continuously. He tries to roll over again, falling onto his side, clutching his stomach; his other hand, he clamps over his mouth, but it’s wet in moments. He can’t stop the sick spit from continuing to gather in his mouth.

“Gods,” he groans into his palm, choked by nausea. “Please, please—”

Another wet, horrible belch rolls up, his stomach heaving up with it. He scrunches his eyes shut, panting, before another burp gurgles out, then another, then another. His guts grumble loudly, liquid forcing through them; he presses harder into his abdomen, trying to soothe it, but it’s hopeless, hopeless, he’s fighting a losing battle, he can’t win.

It feels like he’s going to throw up and shit himself at the same time. He’s trying so desperately not to, but it just— he just can’t.

Somehow, even though he knows his stomach isn’t really digesting, his guts feel full. His lower belly cramps hard, and he clenches as hard as he can, but he can’t stop it, it’s too much.

“Nooooooo,” he groans as a runny mess of shit rushes out of him. His guts cramp again, all the muscles contracting as too much rushes through his intestines, and another gush of diarrhea bursts out of him. His upset stomach rumbles before a deep, nasty, gurgling burp rumbles out of him.

At the same time that another gush of shit pushes out of him, he gags, his gurgling stomach pushing up another massive burp before he belches a wave of vomit into his mouth. Shaking his head, he swallows it back down, just trying to keep it in, but his stomach snarls so loudly when he forces it down into it that he immediately regrets it.

His stomach won’t stop gurgling as he brings up another wine-red stream of puke. His chest burns as it comes up before his stomach churns again and he heaves up another gush of the cursed food stuffing his stomach at the same time that he blasts a huge mess of shit all over himself, the ground, and the cave wall.

Again, there’s only the brief sensation of relief of emptying his stomach before it starts to fill again. Dimi just barely manages to crawl to the side and topple over as the amount that was just in his belly doubles again.

“No, no—” he cries out before he moans, “Mmmmnnnn—”

The contents of his stomach keep multiplying until it feels like there’s no space left in his belly at all, so unbearably full that it feels solid, it’s just— it’s become just a huge, upset ball bulging out from his middle. The gurgling that keeps running up the back of his belly never actually reaches his throat, and he gasps for air, trying to breathe past the stomachache.

It’s not really a stomachache, though. It’s— It feels like he’s going to explode, it really does, and every gurgle and ripple and churn feels horrible, there’s just no space for it.

His nausea spikes, and he can’t control anything that happens. His stomach is just so full, and he starts vomiting again, clutching his stomach as he leans forward and adds to the huge puddle of puke he’s already choked up. Shifting upwards to kneel on the ground, his belly fills his lap, so huge he’s surprised he hasn’t burst yet.

Part of the curse must be the way some of the multiplying food is rushing through his guts. A wet mess explodes from his ass before he gags, then retches again, surging up inside of him. His belly is churning so violently, and he realizes— he realizes that the food is multiplying, the wine, the snacks from his bag, the water, the potions, everything, everything is multiplying, and his stomach is churning in such aggressive ripples that he can see it lurching under his hand.

“No, no, no,” he groans, his throat raw and pathetic, before he shits onto the ground beneath him again. Still kneeling, he clutches his belly— and that only drives home how huge his stomach has become, because his hands are so much smaller compared to his tummy than they were, and he burps loudly again as his stomach gurgles and pushes up another huge belch after another.

Another devastating spike of nausea surges through him, and he can’t move forward. His stomach has gotten too big for him to lean forward, so he only manages to burp and gush up a waterfall of vomit over his own chest and stomach, dripping off of him onto the ground.

It’s too much, it’s too much, his stomach is already refilling, the contents multiplying further. There’s not even a moment of relief this time, it happens too fast. His stomach expands as he tilts to the side and vomits down over his belly again. It’s so distended, and he keeps trying to rub it, but it’s just so full, it’s too full, and he can’t keep it down, he can’t keep it in, he can’t—

It won’t stop, it just won’t. His stomach just keeps roiling, he keeps emptying liquid shit out of his ass and pouring vomit forward over his own belly as it expands further and further. His brain gets fuzzy, his vision spotty, and he grabs for his bag. It’s almost impossible to move; he keeps emptying himself as he does, unable to stop it, the mess on the ground growing bigger and bigger as he stops being able to control the way everything is erupting out of both ends.

He digs through his bag and finds his sending stone. With his vision splotching, and one hand clutching his belly, the other brings the sending stone up and says into it, “Help, I need help,” and hopes that the message gets to Jorrvaskr— and that help comes from Jorrvaskr— before he actually explodes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

prompts:

"my prompt is anything dimi and both ends please 💖" (anonymous)

"your fics and your writing are easily some of the best! could we please have some fic, any fic, involving both ends? pretty please?" (anonymous)

"I need you to know that Dimi and his poorly tummy live in my head rent free….. obsessed with the concept of him falling afoul of a curse that means everything he expels from his belly will reappear inside him twicefold. Maybe he doesn't realise at first and is so confused when he uses the privy and only gets more sick and bloated instead of relieved. So he's desperately trying to keep everything inside him, even though he has an urgently sick belly (which has to give at some point)" (anonymous)

"If you're still active and writing- would you ever write something like that again? Like a werewolf absolutely gorging themselves to the point of sickness, but unable to stop, just filling their belly bigger and bigger, as it struggles harder and harder to contain everything? Belly kinks are everything, man!" (anonymous)

"can you do belly rubs, stuffing, and being so inflated that they can barely breathe? any of your OC’s is ok :)" (anonymous)

"hi!!! can you do stuffing and belly rubs with any of your oc’s :)" (anonymous)

"can you do belly rubbing eith any of your oc’s ?? :)" (anonymous)

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