#sickpic

[sickiemcsickface]

another Alexis & Alicia story now edited & up on AO3 ... enjoy

[sickromancer]

So I had to draw _someone_ from the Malazan books, ended up with Silchas Ruin, one of those dragon shapeshifters. I think his defining traits are efficacy and dispassionate cruelty. But then someone made him cry very much and it took a while for him to get back on his feet, and my theory is that the emotional turmoil kicked his immune system in the teeth too and that he was not only being an useless albeit a bit scary pile of sad during his downtime but got really sick too. Because that's how it should be!!

Invoking my own prompt here - his fever's not going down, and he won't stop crying, poor devil

[that-sickfic-sideblog]

Hear me out, team—

You’ve heard of dickpics, but let’s talk sickpics

Character A is at work. Character B had stayed home, feeling a little under the weather. Late morning, A sends a message asking B how they’re doing, expecting a text back.

Instead, B sends a selfie, their nose a little pink, eyes looking tired. But the background shows that they’re in the living room, and they’ve got a mug of tea in hand, so they’re looking okay overall.

Later, they send a picture of the thermometer reading. Oh dear—they have a fever now. A follow up photo shows them frowning, a flush noticeable on their cheeks now.

They send one final picture near the end of the workday; they’re lying down now, face peeking out from a combination of sweatshirt hood and blankets, looking absolutely awful.

On the way home, A stops by the pharmacy, then the grocery store, picking up everything that B might need for the foreseeable future.

(This post brought to you by my predictive text suggesting sickpic for some reason when I was typing dickpic)

[skriytoons]

For @taylor-tut While it is no longer your birthday and this stopped being a doodle a while ago. I hope you enjoy this ...

Happy Birday

Merry Crisis &

Happy new era

[kickmyguts95]

Masaki Nakamura was the hottest guy on campus. No matter who you asked, the answer was unanimous. The female population had proclaimed him as such, and he was, without a doubt, as hot as he was unreachable. With almost a celebrity-like status, some students even went so far as to print out his social media photos and pin them to their bedroom walls, right alongside posters of popular drama stars and boy bands.

Masaki Nakamura was, in fact, in a band. An amateur rock band, which only added to his appeal, as he could often be seen strolling across campus with a guitar case slung over his shoulder.

Girls would snap sneaky pictures of him, exchanging them like rare collectibles. The most valuable were the ones that featured his abs—some girls even willing to pay for a glimpse of that rare material.

And I happened to have one in my possession, buried in the depths of my old phone.

I first came to know Masaki Nakamura through my brother. They both worked part-time at a record store in Shibuya and had spent many shifts together, quickly becoming close. That day, I happened to be in the area doing some shopping, and my brother offered to give me a ride home—but only if I met him straight after his shift. One minute late, and you take the train, he had said.

When I arrived, he wasn’t alone. No other than Masaki Nakamura sat in the back seat of the car, eyes closed, head resting against the window. My brother casually mentioned we’d be taking a detour to drop him off first as he hadn’t been feeling well during the shift, complaining of a stomachache and making frequent trips to the restroom, but finding no relief. Too much information I didn't need to hear. But it made me look again, and his posture backed up my brother's story. The way his mouth curved downward, how his face contorted in pain with his eyes shut, his arms crossed tightly over his abdomen.

I took the passenger seat, and we drove for a while until my brother made a quick stop at the drugstore to pick up stomach pain relief medicine. Left alone in the car with Masaki Nakamura, I turned around to check on him. By the time I realized, I had already snapped a picture.

I couldn’t help myself. Still lining against the window with his eyes closed, Masaki Nakamura was rubbing his stomach under his t-shirt, and his famous abs were on full display. Right before my eyes.

That photo became my most prized possession—the golden card everyone would die and kill for. I may or may not have let a few select people sneak a peek at it. It reached the status of urban legend in campus, but I neither confirmed nor denied the rumours.

But even now, years after Masaki Nakamura and I graduated, I keep it hidden, safe in the depths of my old phone.

[kickmyguts95]

[Disclaimer: chatgpt wrote the lyrics for me. Credit to whoever chatgpt stole them from]

Kazuki had promised the lyrics would be ready by Friday. But Thursday night came, and all he had was a blank page and a stomachache. A vicious, relentless stomachache that kept him awake, twisting and turning in bed, unable to focus on anything but the excruciating pain.

He stared at the bedside clock, fingers pressing into his abdomen, counting down the minutes to Friday. It seemed impossible. Between the constant trips to the bathroom and the sharp, cramping waves of agony, it felt like his body was decided to jeopardise the deadline.

But dawn came and the song was miraculously done, barely held together by Kazuki's desperation to finish it and get some rest. He shared the draft in the group chat, hoping no one could tell how close he’d come to completely giving up.

Verse 1 Knives in my ribs, you came unannounced, Settle in deep, start tearing me down. Cold sweat baptism, bathroom-floor prayer, I’d sell my soul just to not feel you there.

You coil like a curse I can’t outrun, Every second hits harder than the last one. You don’t whisper, you don’t warn, You kick the door in, make me mourn.

Pre-Chorus I guess I let you inside, Now I’m paying the price. You won’t leave scars, But you rewrite my insides.

Chorus YOU’RE RIPPING ME OPEN, I’M LOSING CONTROL, A RIOT TEARING THROUGH MY CORE, NO SAFE WAY HOME. CALL IT LOVE, CALL IT PAIN, YOU HIT ME THE SAME. I’M BITING MY LIPS THROUGH THE SCREAMS I DON’T SHOW. YOU’RE KILLING ME SLOWLY, FROM THE INSIDE — LET ME GO.

Verse 2 Tried to stand up, world snapped in half, Vision went blurry, I laughed at that. You bend me forward, drag me down, Like I did something wrong just by existing now.

No witnesses, no one to blame, Just me and you in this private cage. You don’t care if I beg or plead, You feed on my weakness, you live in me.

Pre-Chorus Every breath Is a gamble now, Every step Feels like I’m going down. (Down, down, down…)

Chorus YOU’RE RIPPING ME OPEN, I’M LOSING CONTROL, A RIOT TEARING THROUGH MY CORE, NO SAFE WAY HOME. CALL IT LOVE, CALL IT PAIN, YOU HIT ME JUST THE SAME. I’M BITING MY LIPS THROUGH THE SCREAMS I DON’T SHOW. YOU’RE KILLING ME SLOWLY, FROM THE INSIDE — LET ME GO!!!

Breakdown I SHOULD’VE KNOWN, I SHOULD’VE KNOWN, SOME THINGS ARE BETTER LEFT ALONE. ONE BAD CHOICE, ONE LAST BITE, NOW I’M PAYING FOR IT ALL NIGHT.

Bridge (half-time, raw) I don’t need your forgiveness, I don’t need the truth, I just need a moment Where I’m not fighting you.

Final Chorus (scream/sing) YOU’RE RIPPING ME OPEN, I’M LOSING CONTROL, THIS ISN’T HEARTBREAK — IT’S BREAKING MY CORE. CALL IT LOVE, CALL IT PAIN, YOU HIT ME THE SAME. I’M CURLED ON THE FLOOR, TRYING NOT TO EXPLODE. YOU’RE KILLING ME SLOWLY, FROM THE INSIDE — OUT.

Outro Dawn creeps in, I’m still alive, Barely breathing, but I survived. You didn’t break me, you tried hard, though. I’m on my knees, begging you to go.

Feedback didn’t take long to arrive. It was Ryota, the drummer, who replied first.

Another song for that whore? This is bullshit and you woke me up for this?

Kazuki stared at the screen, the words burning into his eyes as he typed the asnwer.

Calm down R it wasn’t like that This has nothing to do with my love life

Followed by a crude

Wtf bro what is it then? Seems pretty clear to me that you are not over it yet

Kazuki's fingers hovered over the reply box, but the words didn’t form. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Another notification came in. From Itsuki, the guitarist.

Don’t worry Kazu. R-kun is just jealous of your love life It’s public knowledge you’ve got terrible taste in women 💔 And even worse in men 🍆💀

With a smirk on his face, Kazuki flicked the middle finger emoji in the group chat and tossed the phone aside, laughing under his breath. The pain in his stomach stroke again, exactly as the song described. Kazuki took a slow drag off his cigarette, exhaling the smoke as if it could blow his stomachache away. After one last hit, he crushed the cigarette butt in the ashtray and sank back into the sheets, arms tightly wrapped around his aching stomach. Finally time to get some rest.

[kickmyguts95]

It was his first time back in his hometown since moving to Tokyo for work. Nearly a year had passed since he’d left, and not a single visit had been made, as everyone seemed more eager to find an excuse to visit him in Tokyo. Yet, now that he was back, it felt as though no time had passed at all.

His parents were as lively as ever, their spirits as warm as they’d always been, and they had kept his childhood room frozen in time. The furniture, the bedding, the posters and photographs still hanging on the walls as if he hadn’t left. Even the toilet seat was still as pristine and welcoming as he remembered.

He had lost count of how many times he’d run back to that same toilet that night. Dawn was just beginning to break on the horizon, casting a pale light through the window. This had to be his fourth or fifth trip to the toilet. His stomach was still punishing him for last night’s dinner, cramping with no mercy and demanding frequent releases of its half-digested contents. Forcing him to double over the toilet bowl again and again, on his knees begging for mercy, clutching his stomach as he prayed for his misery to stop.

As he dragged himself back to bed, another wave of pain hit him. A pain that was sharp, unforgiving, a cruel reminder of his own helplessness.

“Look at you—just bones, Kento,” his mom had said when she first saw him, her voice heavy with concern. “Are you living on instant noodles and discounted bento boxes, like you’re still in university?”

Her words had triggered something in him, the need to prove something, even if it was just to her. So he’d eaten dinner until every last dish was gone, indulging in all the foods he’d loved growing up in that house. He hadn’t been able to stop himself.

And now, the regrets were unbearably painful. The stomach ache kicked in shortly after having dessert. Using his exhaustion from the long journey as a poor excuse to explain his early retreat from the dinner table, he went to his old bedroom and curled into a ball on the bed—the same bed that had once offered him comfort during countless stomach aches, now strangely unfamiliar to him.

[kickmyguts95]

Tetsuji couldn’t believe his luck. She hadn’t rejected him. He spotted her from afar, standing out in the rush-hour crowd with her unique, cool style and her foreign features. She was slightly older, but there was something magnetic about her, an attraction he couldn’t resist. So, he gathered his courage, approached her, exchanged numbers, and texted her the moment they parted ways, asking if she wanted to meet again.

And to his surprise, she replied almost instantly, suggesting they meet that very evening. Time wasn’t something she wanted to waste; after all, she wouldn’t be in the country for long.

Tetsuji couldn’t believe his luck as they spent the evening strolling the streets of Tokyo, the crisp autumn air cooling the heat that kept building between them. He couldn’t believe his luck when, without a word, she grabbed his wrist and led him toward the nearest train station. There, they kissed for the first time.

“This is not a goodbye kiss,” she whispered.

And he understood immediately.

Tetsuji couldn’t believe his luck as more kisses followed, as their clothes fell away like autumn leaves swept by the wind in her hotel room, as they reached the bed, and he finally tasted that forbidden, foreign fruit.

Tetsuji couldn’t believe his luck when he woke up beside her, realizing it hadn’t all been a dream.

But that was where his luck stretched to its limit—until 7 in the morning. From that moment on, he was sitting up in the bed they’d shared so passionately, his body burning with discomfort. His stomach was in pure agony, an unbearable pain that seemed to grow worse with each passing second.

His eyes were wide open, but sleep wouldn’t come. He fought the urge to shift positions, desperate for any kind of comfort, trying to keep his groans of pain as quiet as possible so as not to wake her and let her see him in such a pitiful, undesirable state—sweating, pale, with his stomach cramping as if it were about to tear him apart, his body arched awkwardly in an attempt to find relief.