#dizzyness

[linecrosser]

Whumptober 2025 - Day 12 - Dizziness

when everything fades and it feels like static noise invading space

[writing-whump]

I am the biggest fan of arranged marriage becomes real love and I hope that something they’ll happen between Melissa and Dominick. It’ll probably take a while, but my fingers are crossed 🤞

So I was wondering, could you write a fic where they are maybe talking about the logistics of their plan and what not and Dominick gets one of his attacks that he got in the fic that we were introduced to him and Melissa has to be the caretaker?

I'm so excited about this ask, thank you for sending it! I LOVE the arranged marriage/fake relationship becoming real too!!🙈💕

Too Late to Lie

"Are you sure about this one?"

Melissa rolled her eyes as Dominick paced the apartment Isaiah had offered her, his critical gaze making the whole thing almost funny.

"Yes."

"Look at how old the furniture is."

Actually, it wasn't half as old as anything she looked for on her own when she sought to rent an apartment for herself. This was in great condition, and the main advantage was, she could move right in.

"Isn't it too small?" Dominick continued, his steps echoing through the living room wooden floor.

"It's more than enough for me and Marcie," she assured him, throwing her loose straight red hair behind her shoulder. Then she stopped, when the idea hit her. "If you don't...do you want to move in too?"

Dominick froze in place, back to her. She could tell by how he rolled his shoulders he was fighting off a reaction he didn't want her to see.

As expected, he turned around wearing that confident smile and the same cheeky glint in his eyes. "It's not really my style."

"Not because of- I mean, if it wouldn't be- wouldn't feel safer for you." She rubbed her palms together, despite the heat. Yes, safe that was the right word. "What if someone goes after you too?"

"I don't think I'm an interesting target. Besides, I have lots of security in all of my apartments."

Melissa didn't want to shoot down his security systems, but it seemed too little against wolves. Or witches.

"Only..." he hesitated, walking in a circle around the living room all the way to the kitchen. "Only if you felt safer. With me here. I'm only 15 minutes down the road though and I can come anytime you call me."

She nodded. She didn't want to put more pressure on him. When there wasn't an audience, his confident shark mask mellowed down a lot. It was easier to talk to him then.

"You don't have to live in the same place, if you don't feel comfortable...yet. But we are going to live in one place...that would help with the marriage story, wouldn't it?"

Dominick's hand went along the counter, seeing how dusty it was. "I have a place for us. Two floors, four bathrooms, someone to cook and clean. You will have every comfort in the world."

Ah. So they were going to live separate lives. Everything planned out so they wouldn't have to bump into each other for anything.

"We don't have to push it yet," she relented. "We can live here with Marcie until the wedding and see what happens then."

He nodded, not looking at her. "I will...I'll get different design suggestions for the place and let you choose what you like. So you can set it up to your taste. I can get it done under a week."

She nodded although she thought it was unnecessary. That was usually they worked since the engagement. All these acts of services. Making sure she knew he would give and arrange her with all possible comforts he could think of.

As if he were paying for every minute of her presence in luxury.em

Everything in her name, to her taste. It was a princess treatment she hadn't imagined in her wildest dreams. She was the fetch girl all her life, she was always proving herself with skills and hard work. It was disconcerting as hell.

Was she trying to show her his power? Capabilities? How rich and connected he was?

Or was it for her sake? Did it bother him what Isaiah said at the meeting? About pretending he cared?

He usually shook off such comments with ease, but something seemed...off today. He was meeting her eyes less, hunched over more and he was constantly moving, like he couldn't sit still.

Melissa liked the place already though. She would pack her and Marcie's things and they could move in here this week already. Let the storm pass.

She was so anxious about it she wished she could speed it up, so it could be over sooner.

His phone rang. He looked at it and then at her, uncharacteristically hesistsnt.

"It's okay," she waved her hands. "It's all done for today. You can go, if you need to."

He looked torn taking the call, then let his hand with the phone down, watching her. "If you woudl like me to...but I don't want to make you nervous by forcing my presence here before you are ready. You have enough to deal with it as it is."

Melissa nodded as he walked into the other room, his voice booming through the walls.

He was good at making things sound like favors — like he was being considerate and thoughtful, when really he wasn’t ready to stay.

...

Melissa didn’t wait for the sound of the front door closing. She curled up on the couch with her arms around one of the throw pillows and let her mind spin in slow, anxious circles until it ran itself out.

She must have drifted off.

When she woke up, the light had shifted. Evening had bled into night, and the air in the apartment felt heavier.

She stretched stiffly and rubbed her eyes — and that’s when she noticed.

The door was still locked from the inside. His shoes were still by the door.

He never left.

She stood slowly, tension creeping up her spine. "Dominick?" she called, moving toward the hall. No answer.

She found him in the bathroom. The light was still on.

He was sitting on the closed toilet lid, bent forward, his elbows on his knees, one hand pressed to his temple. His suit jacket was hanging from the doorknob, and his tie had been loosened, collar damp with sweat.

When he looked up, his eyes were glassy.

"What's wrong?" It felt wrong to step closer. His whole body tensed up and she could see him wince with the pain of straightening, of meeting her gaze with that tiredness. He wasn't bracing for pain, he was swimming in it, soaked with it. There was something terrifying about that awareness, about his dilated pupils.

"I'm fine. Just a headache." He was tilting slightly to the side as if his balance was off, one hand wrapped around the other as if he was holding it straight.

This wasn't new for him. Even the intensity of the pain didn't seem alarming to him. She knew that look from regular patients at the hospital. That resignation.

"You are sweating through your shirt," she observed. Her heart sped up. She wasn't sure how to react. Her clinical doctor side wanted to ask questions, fuss, take care of him. The other wanted to pull back and hide.

She didn’t want to see him weak. Not now — not before the fight they were about to start, the one she’d put all her trust in. In him. In his shark smile and grant promises.

She didn't want a connection from this either. She didn't want to care about this man who held so much power over her life. Saying yes and being mild was hard enough when she didn't care for him.

"Do you have medicine for this?" Melissa asked, trying to stay practical. No need to ask questions she knew he wasn't willing to answer.

How long have you been sick? What hurts? Why? Why are you not fighting it? Why are you not laughing it off? Why?!

"I'm fine," he repeated, his voice sharper now, with jagged edges. "Go home. Leave me be."

She put her hands on her hips, feeling defensive. "Then tell me what kind of help you’d actually accept."

"I don't need your help," he snapped, then groaned, curling his head into his hands.

"Is there anyone else you want me to call?" Melissa said, ignoring the outburst.

A laugh bubbled up. Ironic. "Melissa, please. A headache like this is beneath your attention. Not worth the fuss. I’ll take a short break and head out after."

Such a blatant lie.

If he wanted to take a tiny break he would have lied down in the bedroom, no matter how dusty or unmade it was. He wouldn't have chosen a bathroom.

She scanned him over, his colourless lips, his flushed cheeks, the sweat clinging to his neck and hairline. The tremble in his fingers. The painful frown etched into the forehead that was usually so smooth and composed.

This was not the face he wanted to show her either.

What was she supposed to do? Accept his wishes and leave him to it?

Melissa stepped to the cupboard, looking through it but there were no towels, no washclothes, no linens. No fabric she could use.

Damn it.

She had a light blue blouse over her tank top. The blouse was damp and crumpled from the day, but it would do. The tank underneath was small, a little revealing — but this wasn’t about modesty.

She shrugged off the blouse and put it under the cold water. When it was soaked properly, she turned to him, putting the folded cloth on his nape.

He flinched at the touch, eyes flickering to her now-bare shoulders, the way goosebumps had risen along her arms. "I said-"

"Shut up. We’ve done everything your way today. You don’t get to argue with me now," she said firmly. Her fingers brushed along his cheek and neck, but there was no fever. She focused on his pulse. Elevated, but that could be from the pain.

"Your symptoms."

"Melissa-"

"I can't treat you if I don't know them."

"Does a person not have the right to reject these violating administrations?"

She scoffed. "Why did you choose a doctor for a fiancé then?"

He flinched away from her touch, shuddering. "That's not why and you know it."

"What an added bonus," she said sarcastically.

He was still curled away and tilting even more, like he was about to crumble to the floor. Okay, so the stern approach wasn't working either.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. It wasn't the first time her short temper had made her profession difficult. "Look. You don't have to tell me what this is or prove that this is not why you wanted me here. Maybe you didn't. Maybe you just don't trust me. Fine. But I'm already here, so you might as well make it easier on both of us."

Dominick didn’t answer.

His eyes had closed again, brows still pulled tight. His breathing had slowed, but not in a restful way — more like he was trying to shrink into himself. With that amount of sweat dripping from his face he looked like someone about to fall — not asleep, but apart.

Melissa knelt down, slowly as if not to spook him. Not reaching for him, just close enough that he would feel her presence.

"I'm not trying to win," she said quietly. "I just want to help."

That made him shift, barely. His mouth opened, but no words came. Then he swallowed thickly. "I feel dizzy."

She nodded slowly. Not a full explanation, but it was something.

"Do you feel faint?"

"No." He sounded insulted, but then spread his legs a bit, breathing through gritted teeth. "Might...might throw up if I move though."

"See, that's useful information," she said, already looking for something to use for that purpose. There was a bucket for washing floors and a small bin without a bag. She grabbed it from the floor and put it between his legs.

He squinted at the bin with an angry grimace.

"Do you want me to shut off the light?"

"No. Hurts either way."

Melissa stayed crouched in front of him, steadying the bin with one hand. The other hovered near his knee, unsure if touching him would ground or unnerve him more.

Dominick had tipped forward slightly, his hands braced on his thighs now, knuckles white. His breath came in through his nose in shallow, measured drags, like he was trying to bargain with the pain — to breathe around it instead of through it.

His skin was waxy, flushed in uneven patches. Not quite pale, not quite flushed. His body didn’t seem to know what to do with itself.

She reached out slowly and touched his wrist. “Try to keep your head lower than your heart. That might help the dizziness.”

He didn't pull away this time. Didn’t acknowledge it either.

"Tell me what you need," she said again, more softly.

"I need this to be over." Almost a whine. It pulled at something in her chest. Not sympathy, not yet. But something quieter. Something like dread.

Then came the swallow. A hard, audible one. He brought a hand to his mouth, and for the first time, his composure visibly cracked. A burp fought it's way up, making him flinch with it.

Melissa moved the bin closer. "It's okay."

"I don’t—" He shook his head, still resisting. But his shoulders curled inward, and the next breath he took stuttered.

She saw it before it happened — that tilt forward, that helpless shift in his jaw as nausea overtook pride.

And then he was gagging.

The first dry heave was sharp, wracking his whole frame. She pushed the bin into his hands and he grabbed it tightly before the second burp came. A wet, awful sound followed as milky vomit sprayed out.

Melissa didn’t speak. She didn’t reach for him. Just kept one hand lightly on his arm, helping him hold the bin with the other. Half of his face disappeared in that small container. It would have been comical if he didn't sound so pained as another throaty belch brought up a bubble of puke.

He gasped in a shaky breath, then another retch, rough and miserable, echoing in the small bathroom. It sounded like there wasn’t much left in him. Just pain squeezing through muscle.

"Easy," she said softly. "Don’t fight it."

He coughed once, trying to catch his breath between spasms. There was a whine, like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what. Something about that defenselessness made her throat tighten.

And then she did reach — brushing the damp hair from his forehead, letting her fingers rest there for just a moment, grounding him.

He was shaking. She hadn’t realized how badly until now.

When the worst of it passed, he stayed slumped over, breathing hard, arms braced on the bin. Melissa carefully eased it from his grip, pushing it away. "Okay. You are okay. Just breathe."

She sat beside him on the floor, her back against the wall.

She didn’t look at him. Just sat there, smoothing her pants. "And the world kept turning," she said into the tense silence.

A snappy, rasping sound came from his throat. Could’ve been a laugh. Could’ve been defeat.

Either way, it wasn’t a protest. Even if just for a moment.

[boysbellyrubs]

All In a Day’s Work

From the moment the last creature fell, Xavier knew he had fucked it. As the monster hit the ground, he stumbled into the alley wall. His back hit it first and the wound he had received a few minutes earlier came back to bite him in the ass. Xavier groaned, forced to stand up straight as the cut bled through his shirt. 

He felt his exhaustion hit him full force, the weight of his overexertion now landing roughly on his shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut at a dizzying wave of nausea, a hand resting on his belly. Xavier could feel his illusion fading, his horns, claws and wings flickering back for the world to see. He sucked in a breath as he tried to keep it up but another crash of nausea prevented it. 

Thankfully, the monsters he chose as his enemy were prone to fighting in dark places; so he found himself concealed by the tall, shadowy structures of two apartment blocks, shrouded by a dumpster. 

Xavier was not human, he tried to be for most of his life but he had been forced into his current way of life by his parents. They too weren’t human, creatures made to hunt out the lurking beasts of the human world, trying not to be hunted themselves by greedy scientists and capitalist scumbags. 

He had been doing this for at most 5 years now. He had gotten quite good at hunting out whatever he was tasked to kill, and do it efficiently without being caught. However, the side effects of his outings were physical repercussions including nausea, headaches, vertigo, the list goes on. This only happens when he had pushed himself too far, used his abilities too much to the point where he was seconds away from puking on his enemy rather than killing them. 

Crouched down behind the bin he hugged his stomach as it churned thickly, careful not to stretch his fresh cut on his back. The bastard thing was right under his left wing, so there was no way he was going to be able to use it for a few days. That was another downside, he took a few days to heal when he was this fucked up. So, he was regularly calling in sick for his human job as his body took its sweet time to patch itself up. 

He didn’t know why he still did this. 

His belly gurgled under his palm and he hiccuped, feeling his breakfast swirl and make its way up his throat. He fell onto his ass, hissing as it jostled his wings. Kicking his legs out to the front he gingerly leaned back against the dumpster, trying to calm his stomach enough for him to get home. Xavier’s head made a thump against the bin, staring at the clouds way above him. He breathed rhythmically through his nose and out his mouth, desperately using his foolproof technique to stop his inevitable sickness. 

The clouds moving were only increasing his dizziness however, so he chose to stare into nothing. He gently rubbed his belly, another hiccup wracking his frame. He groaned, it felt like his cut was tearing open wider the more he sat there, and the nausea was only getting worse. 

Pushing himself off the bin a little, he leant forward in between his legs. Now dead set on vomiting, his brain gave his stomach a big thumbs up and everything came up. His breakfast came up thickly, splattering on the concrete and blotching his pants with droplets of puke. He groaned, a sick burp beginning another gag and bringing up more of his stomach's contents. 

The floor swam beneath him and he planted a hand roughly on the ground beside him; right into a shard of shattered glass. He jerked away from it, his hand now dripping blood down his forearm. The sight of it set off his stomach, it gurgled angrily and he felt his shoulders roll aggressively with his heave. It aggravated the wound on his back, Xavier swore he felt more blood dripping down his back. 

After another burp and a hiccup, he sniffed and spat the last tendrils of spit to join the puddle between his legs. He moaned, vertigo making him sway forwards. He almost put his injured hand back on the ground but he forced his back to straighten and leant backwards; wanting the security of the bin behind him. He felt like shit. His entire body hurt like hell and his belly was still kicking up a fight, his right hand coming up to simply rest on his middle. 

Leah would absolutely murder him. 

Yeah, he has a girlfriend. She’s human, but she knows about his other work and his whole horns and wings thing. Every time he came home sick and injured, he would first get treated and cared for but as soon as she lured him into that false sense of security, the lecturing would start. 

He appreciated them, of course, but it happened every time without fail. She would say something about how he ‘needed to take better care of himself’ and that he ‘should know his limits by now’. Thinking about her made him smile at least, even though he was feeling like the epitome of a squashed bug on someone’s front tire. 

He should probably start moving if he wanted to get home by dark, the sunset already starting her orange painting of the sky, even though moving was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d have to apply his illusion again, which would only make him feel more sick, and then walk home or hitch a ride. 

Maybe dying behind this dumpster was the better option. 

No, he had Leah to get home to. So, with all of his remaining energy, he pushed himself off the ground, avoiding his vomit and trying to stand without toppling right back over. His wings flapped instinctually, it kept him upright but it hurt like a bitch. He moaned and put his hand on the bin, breathing deeply through his nose. His stomach ached, now his muscles were joining the party, as well as his head that pounded with every beat of his heart. 

His belly gurgled in warning and his eyes widened, please not right now, he prayed. He felt it lurch and a burp slipped past his lips, he covered his mouth with a hand and tried to swallow the wave. With his beautiful luck, it didn’t work and he found himself doubled over and creating a new puddle of sick right next to his old one. He braced his arm on the dumpster, desperately trying not to fall over completely. He probably looked a sight. If anyone just happened to turn their heads they would see what looked like an alcoholic but then they would see the wings and horns and run for the hills shouting for police. 

Xavier’s mind wouldn’t shut up as he purged his insides more. His overthinking only made his head spin more, making his legs wobble and his arm almost slipped off the bin lid. He groaned out of frustration now, all he wanted was to get out of this fucking alley and get home. 

Another grumble from his belly and he forced himself to be done. He straightened up and cleared his throat, coughing up the last bits stuck in his throat, and took a few wobbly steps forward. His shaky legs only took him a few metres when he felt his whole body give up, the wall suddenly appearing much closer to his face and another painful spike of his head caused his vision to blacken. Xavier moaned, wishing he had the ability to fucking teleport. 

He didn’t see the figure approaching him from the street. Xavier’s panic neurons weren’t firing as his horns and wings were on full display. He was simply unable to hide them, too sick and tired and hurt to even bring up the energy needed to activate his illusion. If he was lucky they wouldn’t say anything. He wasn’t the only hybrid in the world, maybe this person was a sane individual who didn’t see him as a monster. 

“Are you alright, young man?” The voice sounded older. Shit, you can never know with old people. 

He didn’t even have the spirit to talk, a strangled moan making its way out instead. 

They got closer, “I’m not gonna call the police if you’re worried. I’m a bit nervous for ya, s’all. You don’t look so good.” It was a woman, and she sounded like she wanted to help. He let out a puff of air, pulling himself up a smidge on the wall. 

He cleared his throat, “Can you take me home?” His voice slurred, and he didn’t waste any time in asking her. He just needed to lie down. 

She stepped into his vision and he finally caught sight of her. She even looked kind, glasses and a little hat, Xavier felt like jumping into her arms and demanding a bedtime story. Thankfully, after he asked she quickly ran to bring her car around. He crouched down while he waited, just trying to stave off the next vomiting spell. His belly was still unsettled, but he was able to hold it off the entire trip back to his house and all the way to his door. 

After he opened the door though, he had to run to the bathroom to empty his stomach again. His illusion blinked off and his wings almost smacked Leah in the face as she came into the bathroom. Xavier could barely register her touch as she was so gentle with him, she must have seen the blood stain on his shirt and no doubt the blood all over his hand. 

His stomach heaved and he lost his breath, he coughed and finally the last gush splashed into the water. Xavier groaned, dropping his head onto the rim of the toilet seat. 

“Pretty bad tonight, babe.” Leah said. Xavier felt almost instantly relaxed. Funny how someone you love can do that to you. He nodded, groaning into his arm. As he sat up, Leah was already rifling through the bathroom cabinet for bandages and medicine. Xavier felt a bit guilty that he came home injured, but Leah never wavered or complained. He always tried to make sure he listened when she did express her concerns, seeing her boyfriend battered and bloody was probably not very good for her mental health. 

He maneuvered his legs into a more comfortable position and let Leah start tending to his wounds. 

“How did you get home?” 

“Some nice old lady gave me a lift.” 

Leah nodded, focusing on the cut on his hand. He watched her work, letting the exhaustion finally take over and his wings droop fully. He stayed quiet in case Leah wanted to speak. 

However, the two sat in comfortable silence. Xavier breathing evened out, getting deeper as he was taken care of, and Leah silent as she concentrated. When she got to his back, he kept flinching and she had to hold his shoulder to stop him from moving. 

“Xavier, stop moving, you'll make it worse.” She was laughing a little now. 

Xavier tried to move again, whining, “But it hurts.” 

Leah laughed, “Alright, you big baby. Just a few more seconds and you can lie down.” 

He stopped complaining and more than a few seconds later, she was done and helped him off the ground. He swayed and Leah grabbed his forearms, looking up into his eyes. They were squeezed shut so she couldn’t look at his purple iris’, her favourite feature. She touched his cheek, 

“Hey, Xavier, let's get you into bed.” 

He opened his eyes, they were red rimmed and exhausted. She smiled sadly at him, leaning up to give a small kiss on the nose. Xavier’s cheeks flushed, avoiding eye contact. Leah pulled him to the bedroom, piling up some pillows and letting him get settled. 

This had happened so much, Leah had prepared a kit for when Xavier came home sick. A bucket full of a thermometer, medicine, a rag and a towel. She emptied it and put the bucket on the ground beside him, and shoved the thermometer in his mouth. 

“I love you.” Xavier sleepily mumbled, eyes closed and one hand resting on his middle. She reached out to touch his belly, feeling little grumbles. He sighed happily. 

“Do you want a wet rag on your forehead for the headache?” 

Xavier opened his eyes, “How did you know?” 

Leah took the thermometer out and shrugged, “You have that face.” 

Xavier closed his eyes again. He felt amazing now that he was lying down. Soon he’d have a cold rag and Leah would probably rub his belly as he slept. His back didn’t even hurt lying down. He was happy to start feeling better. 

Leah returned, gently placing the rag on his head and climbing into the bed behind him. She snuggled up close, smoothing his crooked feathers and kissing his warm cheek. She watched as he smiled, finally letting himself sleep. The bruises and cuts were healing and Leah was content to nurse him back to health. 

The lecture would come once he woke up. 

—

Love the trope of a supposedly strong, powerful character being a big softie. I really hoped you guys liked this, I’m already in love with these two, cries. 

[anxiouswhumpyescapism]

Jaskier 👀

Hell yeah  👀 Thank you!

trying to hide an injury (kinda) + see tags

_____________________

“Let me look, Jaskier.”

They’re both watching him, like he’s going to break any second. Vultures, the both of them.

“No. No, it’s fine. Honestly, Geralt."

“Bard, come on, you’re trembling. Your hands should get looked at, and that shoulder... Don’t be an ass.” Yennefer sounds incredulous and frustrated. But she tugs at his sleeve, probably harder than intented, eyes fluttering down and sucking in her lower lip. She’s frowning, very hard. 

“Fuck off, you two. Like I said. It’s- It’s fine.”

But his heart is pumping very hard in his chest and he might pass out any second. Shit. Fuck all of this. A hurting body is not at all preferable and should be made un-hurt. Theoretically, he knows this. Theoretically, he knows a lot of things. 

“Jaskier?” 

Geralt can actually sound very worried. Huh. 

“Jaskier, you..you should sit the fuck down.”

Yennefer too, apparently. 

He presses his eyes shut and swallows, because the wave of dizzyness brings nausea with it. 

“Y-yes. I should.” 

Two sets of hands grab him gently by the arms.

✿ send me a character & i will answer with a tiny whumpy snippet (add squicks + be safe)✿

[mariann672]

Exactly A MIGRAINE IS NOT A F ING HEADACHE! #migraine #migraines #migrainessuck #migraineawareness #migrainerelief #migrainewarrior #migrainecommunity #migrainesufferer #migraineawarenessmonth #migraineproblems #chronicmigraine #warrior #survivor #awareness #dizzyness #nausea #brainfog https://www.instagram.com/p/Cd3xKc9pLKF/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[heardatmedschool]

“Doc, this class made me dizzy.”

Vestibular disorders lecture.

There’s only so many kinds of nistagmus you can watch before you start getting vertigo.

[atdeathsgrip]

Heyyo,

I’m new to this side of the internet- but I do have a question for others who are chronically I’ll with some form of Orthostatic intolerance:

- have you faced a misdiagnosis regarding your specified OI (ex: possibly misdiagnosed with Ortho. hypotension, but really have POTS, visa versa), if so- how were you able to obtain a correct diagnosis, and what was the process of receiving that diagnosis?

When I was diagnosed with chronic Orthostatic hypotension, my doctors ran EKGs, ultrasounds, and tracked my heart rate. BUT, when I would have a heightened bpm (especially during episodes), they ignored that. **note: the last flare that I had with my watch on, I had a resting rate of 140bpm(I had been sitting for about 10 minutes at a time**

I’ve tried to have them reevaluate me- but they feel content with the answers and say that regardless there is nothing I can do other than up my sodium and iron intake.

I feel discontent and wish that they would at least help me understand where the discrepancies between my symptoms and varying conditions are. But maybe I just need to cool it?

[elextric-eye]

Umm anyone else get dizzy with covid?? Kind of freaking out rn haha ha help 🫠