PUKE - Tumblr Posts
do you guys ever feel like "mEn~~~~~đ„”đ„”" when i see hot anime men or like ryan reynolds or tom holland.... but then puke up like "menđ€ąđ€ą" when i suddenly like scroll pass a picture of dan schneider, ned fulmer, or andrew tate..
Timothee with a nasty stomach bug that had been going around and being super cuddly and clingy cuz he feels so sick. đ€ plz â€ïž
Bug
>>>puke warning<<<
You and Timothée had been dating for a couple of months the first time he visited your apartment. The two of you were going to watch a movie on your new TV - a gift to yourself after a promotion at work. It was shaping up to be the perfect casual date night until you felt him start to squirm on the couch beside you about an hour into the film.
At first, you thought he was just trying to reposition to get comfortable, but the shifting continued, and he let out a barely audible whimper. You picked up the remote and paused the show so you could look at him. You noticed he was much paler than when he walked through your door earlier.
"Are you ok?" you asked worriedly.
Timothée's face scrunched in discomfort as he removed his arm from its perch around your shoulders and leaned forward, nervously rubbing the palms of his hands on his knees. "My stomach is bothering me. Not sure why."
"Oh no. Can I get you anything? I have some Sprite and crackers."
"Maybe just some Sprite."
You untucked your leg and stood to fetch a glass of clear soda. He accepted it graciously but sipped cautiously.
"Thank you. I'll be ok. Let's keep going with the movie."
You nodded in agreement and pressed play, reclaiming your spot next to him. You were careful not to cuddle too closely, afraid that your body heat may worsen his nausea. About 15 minutes later, Timothée suddenly jumped off the couch and ran to the bathroom, followed by the sound of violent retching.
You padded over quietly. The door didn't latch behind him, so you knocked gently and pushed it open slightly.
"Are you alright?" you called out.
You heard him spit, then groan pitifully. "Oh, God. Please don't come in. Th-this is embarrassing."
"You know I'm a pediatric nurse, right? I get puked on for a living," you replied, unfazed.
He chuckled weakly. "Fair enough."
"So can I come into my own bathroom?" you teased in an effort to lighten the mood. He simply nodded, letting his head hang over the toilet. You knelt beside him to rub soothing circles on his back. You felt him tense as a queasy burp worked its way up from his belly.
"Any clue what may be causing this? Did any food seem off today?" you inquired.
He paused to think, then shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Maybe just a bug."
An idea occurred to you when you noticed how his now unruly curls fell into his face as he leaned forward. You stood and grabbed one of your headbands to pull it back.
"Thank you," Timothée all but whispered, resting his head on his forearm as he sat back against the wall. The peace only lasted a few moments before he was back on his knees and leaning over the toilet again. A long string of spit dripped from his mouth as his body prepared for another bout of vomiting.
"Just let it out. It'll help you feel better." You reassuringly rested your hand on his shoulder blade as he heaved repeatedly until finally emptying his stomach.
After spitting several times to clear his mouth, he sat back and looked at you. "I think it's over now." He cleared his throat. "Sorry about that."
"You don't need to apologize for something you have no control over, babe." You half-smiled kindly and ran a hand through his curls. "Why don't you stay here tonight and get some rest?"
Timothée paled again. "I- I don't know. I mean, I want to, and I was hoping to before...this...but I don't want our first time staying together overnight to be like this."
"Nonsense. For one, you don't need to drive home if you aren't feeling well. Second, there's no need to suffer alone. Here." You handed him a spare toothbrush. "When you have enough energy to stand, brush your teeth and we'll just pick up where we left off."
You stood and left the bathroom to give Timothée a moment of privacy. You heard the water run and the door open. This time, you were seated in a position to hold him instead of the other way around.
"I'm the big spoon this time," you announced defiantly and flashed a smirk.
"I yield," he replied with hands up in surrender, leaning back against your chest as he sat down on the couch. "Thank you for, uh, taking care of me." You responded simply with just a kiss on the crown of his head and unpaused the movie. Not even 10 minutes later, you heard soft snoring.
You buried your nose into his hair and whispered, "I wish I could tell you to your face that I would gladly take care of you for the rest of my days."
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Masterlist
Tag List: @croatianprincess @bluizh @jindongdongie @groovy-lady @pmak2002
Met my friendsâs nephews so I got this idea.
Timothee and reader have a baby together and one day both Timothee and the baby are sick and reader is stressed out cuz sheâs carrying for both of them all day and night.
Like Father, Like Daughter
Internal monologue in italics.
>> warning: lots of puke <<
A piercing wail amplified by the baby monitor next to my head wrenched me from a deep sleep. I sat up in bed, heart racing. What time is it? I looked around in the dark for the red numbers of the alarm clock. 3:43am. Ugh.
I turned on the monitor's video screen to see Aimée squirming, butt up in the air. Despite my best efforts to make her sleep on her back, she always flipped herself over in the night. Timothée laid next to me, still dead asleep - and also on his stomach. Like father, like daughter, I suppose. Part of me wanted to smack him in the head with a pillow. Misery loves company after all, but I refrained.
I grumbled when I heard more whining. At that point, I knew she wasn't going to fall back to sleep on her own this time. I'm coming, I'm coming. I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the light in the hallway. I was nearly knocked over by the putrid smell that hit me like a ton of bricks when I opened Aimée's bedroom door.
Upon seeing me, the little one pulled herself up using the crib rail for support and lifted her arms to beckon me, whimpering. From the ribbon of warm light that gently filled her room from the open door, I could see the source of the smell...
...and Aimée was covered in it.
Oh no.
I held my breath as I picked her up, trying desperately not to gag and add to the mess. She had vomited in the night and rolled in it in her attempts to get comfortable again. Her normally bouncy curls were matted to her head by orange gunk.
"Mamaaaaa....," Aimée groaned.
"I know, baby. We'll get you cleaned up."
I didn't even take two full steps toward the door before she puked down the front of my nightgown. I could feel it dripping onto my foot. Time to call in reinforcements.
I cradled the baby to my chest and padded back to our room. Using my clean foot, I jostled his side of the mattress.
"Timmy!" I whisper-yelled, trying to get his attention without scaring him or the baby. "Timmy!" I tried again, kicking a little harder.
"Huh?" He pushed himself up groggily.
"I need your help. Aimée is sick. Can you change out her sheets while I wash her - well, us - off?"
He responded with a groan and a nod, throwing off the blanket and tossing his feet over the side of the bed. I took Aimée to the bathroom next to her room so I would have her tearless shampoo available. We sat on the floor as we waited for the water to warm up. I carefully peeled off her onesie and my nightgown. I briefly considered just throwing them away rather than attempt to salvage them. When I tried to push her hair back out of her eyes, that's when I felt it. Fever.
I picked her up and gingerly stepped into the tub. I let the warm water flow over us both, hoping it would loosen up the now caked vomit in her hair. I knew she was feeling bad when she just laid there against my chest. Normally, giving her a bath sounded remarkably similar to an exorcism in a horror film.
Without warning, Timothée bolted into the bathroom, startling both of us. Aimée cried as he retched over the toilet.
"Overcome by the smell?" I asked before soothingly shhshing the girl and opening the shower curtain to see.
He spat out the string of saliva dripping from his mouth and looked over at me. I could tell by the unfocused glaze of his eyes and dark circles below that it was more than just sympathetic vomiting.
"Uh oh. Not you, too."
Timothée wordlessly flopped down and leaned against the sink cabinet as I bathed our daughter the best I could while holding onto her. He mustered up the energy to bring me towels and help me step out of the tub once done. He took the bundled baby into his arms so I could dry myself off and put on my robe. I took it as a chance to feel his forehead. He leaned into my touch.
"Dammit. Must be that stomach bug going around."
Ugh, why today of all days? I whined internally. I have an important meeting at 8:30 that I really can't postpone. Maybe if I...
My thoughts were interrupted by Timothée quickly handing Aimée back to me so he could puke once more.
No choice but to reschedule. He won't be able to care for the baby in this state.
I held Aimée on one hip and helped Timothée up from the floor with my other hand. "Time to get the two of you back to bed."
"I changed her sheets, but some vomit had spilled over to the crib rails and carpet. Her room smells awful," he said quietly, as the baby was nodding off on my shoulder. "I'm already sick, and you've already been exposed, so she may as well sleep in our bed. We can take care of her room in the morning."
I laughed internally at his use of "we." This was probably going to take at least 24 hours to run its course based on recent tales from friends and family. And historically, Timothée was a big baby when sick. This was the first time I had to care for them both at the same time.
Once he laid back down in bed, I followed suit and placed Aimée between us. They were both out like a light. I tried to sleep, but my wired brain kept running through my to-do list. I got up and made a makeshift bumper out of pillows to keep Aimée from rolling off the bed. Timothée was curled protectively around her on the opposite side. I would enjoy the cuteness more if I weren't so damned tired.
I set to work hosing off the bedding and clothes outside before putting them in the washing machine. I placed a delivery order for crackers, gingerale, and electrolyte drinks for both sickies. I wiped down the crib and all commonly touched surfaces and all but gassed the house with disinfectant spray. I got out my trusted enzyme cleaner and carpet spot cleaning machine to take care of the spillover. I was focused on that - and nearly done - when my normal morning alarm went off. I rushed to the bedroom to shut it off, praying that it didn't wake my patients.
They didn't budge. And I never went back to sleep. At this rate, I may as well stay up.
I finished the carpet, switched out the laundry, and anxiously started cleaning the kitchen. When the business day began at 8:00am, I started making phone calls to reschedule meetings for the day. Of course, Aimée waited until I was on the phone to start crying. With my phone to my ear, I started walking to the bedroom when I saw Timothée exit, carting the baby to her room to change her diaper. "Thank you," I mouthed. He nodded and half-smiled.
When I hung up a couple of minutes later, I peeked in to check on them. Timothée was humming as Aimée babbled back at him from the changing table.
"I know you're back there. I need to put WD-40 on those squeaky hinges," he joked. I crossed the room and put my chin on his shoulder to gaze down at our daughter.
"Did you ever go to sleep?" he asked, knowing the answer. I silently shook my head. "I figured that when I saw that her room was clean." He shot me a fake stern look.
"I was wired and couldn't settle," I said, trying but failing to stifle a yawn. "She seems to be feeling at least a little better. How about you?"
"I feel drained, but not awful. You should take advantage and go rest while you can. I heard you call into work." He picked the baby up and set her down on the floor to crawl and play.
I shook my head. "I need to wait for the grocery delivery and make you breakfast."
"Or, let me make breakfast while I actually have some energy, and you can handle lunch," he argued. "Go, sneak out while she's distracted."
I had to admit his proposal was appealing. "Promise to wake me if you need me?"
"I promise, love. Now go."
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Masterlist
Tag List:
@croatianprincess, @bluizh, @jindongdongie, @groovy-lady, @pmak2002
slowly dissapear
recovery; a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.
This is how i have been since i can remember. I can never remember a time before i was very picky with what i ate, before i was revolted by most foods to the point i could only eat a few. There is nothing for me to return to, because i have never known life without this eating disorder.
i will never have a normal and healthy relationship with food. i will never be able to go to a restaurant and order something new, just because i want to try it. i will never be fully âârecoveredââ from this.
and thatâs okay to me. i donât find this a bad thing, not really. iâm ok with how things are, but i know iâm not healthy and i have no desire to change, but if i did, i wouldnât focus on trying to recover, or trying new different foods. i would just worry about making sure my body gets all the stuff itâs supposed to, and i wouldnât mind if i had to eat vitamins daily for the rest of my life for that.
Comment from the following story: What's the nastiest thing you've ever seen in the subway?
Stuff like this is why I always read the comments at Gawker. No other website gets this distinction (blogs are exempt from this rule). This particular comment caught my eye because it has so much: a narrator (commenter), a villain (damn hipster!), an anti-hero (tiny puking asian man) and a movie like quality (check that last line. It's like a cherry on top).
I always read the comments here because there's just so much gold. Mostly because the commenters, like the writers, tend to be smart and funny and sarcastic. Partially because the first dickhead to spit out a youtube style comment ("1st!!1!!" "FAKE!!!") will get devoured like the last piece of fried chicken in the ghetto. I appreciate that sort of spirit in an internet community. It's a sign of quality.
Tw: mention of ed
Getting told I am not the overweight one of the two of us makes me want to cry.
Yeah, I am overweight, but I am trying so hard to not starve myself. At times I still puke up all I ate that day and try to make myself feel smaller. Prettier.
I am trying so hard not to fall back into old habits and eat nothing but an apple for weeks and faint in the middle of the street again.
I am trying so hard to stabilize my eating and get to a healthy amount.
I didn't need my best friend to remind me that I am overweight, fat and gross.
I already know and I am trying so hard to accept that. To try and loose weight the normal, healthy way.
Not to pick apart ever food, count calories, starve and puke.
I am trying so hard, but I don't think I can after this.