Three Goblin Art

Janaina Medeiros
Xuebing Du
trying on a metaphor
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
h
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

if i look back, i am lost
ojovivo
Sade Olutola

blake kathryn
Stranger Things
d e v o n
occasionally subtle
we're not kids anymore.
Acquired Stardust
Cosmic Funnies

⁂

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@maxt12

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Plsss can I request a really sick Catherine with a stomach flu and George taking care of her 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽
Oh that sounds lovely! I got so excited when I saw this ask lol. Thanks for the request! Hope you enjoy it!
Catherine the Great(ly nauseous)
A The Great sickfic
It was a normal day at the Winter Palace...well, as normal as it ever was, that is. The court ladies huddled around an ornate spread of various pastries and finger foods, gossip flowing faster than the fountains in the palace gardens. Although, if one were to look closely, there was something amiss...
It seemed that Catherine wasn't partaking in the food and chatting as she usually did. She sat alone, open book in her lap that she clearly wasn't focused on. She hadn't turned a page in half an hour.
Georgina was the first to notice, as she licked honey off her fingers. She turned and strutted across the room. "Empress?" She started. "Are you feeling alright? You've been awfully quiet today." She said, her tone oddly sincere. Catherine looked up, finally closing the book in her lap.
"Oh...yes. Yes, I'm fine, George. Thank you."
George raised an eyebrow. "Somehow, I feel you're lying to me." She said. "If you're hiding something...I will find out. You know that."
Catherine sighed, rubbing at her temples. "Yes, of course...I'm just feeling a bit unwell, that's all. It's nothing."
The brunette sat down next to her. "Unwell? Unwell how?" She asked. Catherine eyed her warily for a moment. Georgina wasn't usually one to show concern, but she seemed sincere.
Catherine sighed. "It's my stomach, mostly. I feel like I've been drinking all night...although I haven't. " she explained. "I feel...queasy...my stomach is all bubbly and it keeps hurting off and on."
George nodded, listening. "Too many figs, perhaps?" She suggested. Catherine shook her head. "No.. I haven't eaten too much. Or much at all, for that matter. I wasn't very hungry last night at dinner..."
George raised an eyebrow. "That's odd...maybe you should go lie down."
Catherine didn't need to be told twice. She stood up, involuntarily holding George's arm for support; she looked dizzy.
George stood up, putting an arm around the empress, and helped her walk to her room.
Immediately upon arriving in her lavish apartments, Catherine began the inconvenient process of changing into her nightgown. Not feeling the need to summon a maid, George opted to help her herself. She untied her corset and helped her remove the layers of skirt, then change into a soft, comfortable nightgown. Catherine didn't hesitate to crawl into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.
It was clear now that the empress was feeling very ill...her face was pale, her eyes watering as she fought back tears. George noticed this immediately. "Are...are you crying?" She asked.
Catherine didn't try to deny it; she nodded as tears began to run down her pale cheeks. "I feel so sick...my stomach hurts. " she sobbed. For an awkward moment, George didn't know what to do. She'd never been the comforting type...but she knew she couldn't just stand there. She stepped over and sat next to the crying empress on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in hers.
"Is there anything I can do?" She asked. Catherine shook her head, shoulders shaking with soft sobs. The brunette pulled a handkerchief from the folds of her skirt, wiping Catherine's tear streaked cheeks with it. She comforted her for what must've been an hour..before Catherine fell asleep.
When she woke, the sun was beginning to set. George had hoped she'd wake up feeling better, but, no such luck. The empress sprang up as if yanked out of bed, a soft yelp of pain escaping her lips as she threw off the covers and made a beeline for the chamber pot. She'd barely had time to squat and hold up her gown before a violent bout of diarrhea took over.
George had to fight the urge to grimace from her seat on the couch. "Oh dear..." she said, her tone both alarmed and sympathetic. "Are...are you ok?" She asked. As if the answer wasn't obvious.
Catherine shook her head, tears once again running down her cheeks. Her arms wrapped around her cramping stomach, her poor body making noises that would make Peter proud. She cursed under her breath as what little color was left drained from her face. "I'm gonna throw up.." she said, voice strained.
"You...you what?" George asked, standing up in a panic, frantically looking for a container. But there wasn't time. Poor Catherine let out a wet belch and spewed all across the floor and rug. George could do nothing but watch in horror as the empress vomited up an amount that seemed ridiculous coming from such a small, pretty woman.
Drool and bile dripped from her lips as she caught her breath, bursting into tears as soon as air filled her lungs. The sound snapped George out of her trance.
"Oh....oh Catherine." She muttered, stepping around the mess and crouching to rub Catherine's back. "Don't cry, don't cry, it's ok." She said, using the handkerchief to once again wipe her tears and mouth. But Catherine was inconsolable. She sobbed for her mother, for Peter, for Leo, Marial...blubbered about missing home and how embarrassed she was...it was heartbreaking. George helped her off the chamber pot and back into bed, patting her back and making rhythmic hushing sounds in an attempt to soothe her. It took a while, but eventually, Catherine did calm down. She'd nearly cried herself to sleep by the time the sobs quieted.
She'd fallen asleep with her head on George's lap as the other woman patted and rubbed her back. George breathed a sigh of relief, afraid to move a muscle and risk waking the sick empress.
Another twenty minutes passed before Catherine woke again, and nothing had improved. An involuntary retch bubbled up her throat and she found herself puking again...this time, all over George...
George froze, eyes wide as she fought every instinct that told her to push her away, to scream, or start heaving herself. But instead she forced out a "It's ok...".
Her skirt was soaked through, the warmth leaking through onto her legs. She almost wanted to be angry; but when she saw the way Catherine just scooted off of her and collapsed back into her pillows, she couldn't. This woman was very, very sick. And as disgusting as this was for poor George, she knew Catherine couldn't help it. And so she held her tongue and slowly peeled off her soiled clothes, trying not to make the mess worse. Once in nothing but her slip, she turned her gaze back to Catherine. Sighing deeply, she made her way back to the bed, and curled up to cuddle the sick empress. She might as well, at this point.
Lena noticed it halfway through Mara’s third sentence.
The intern’s voice, usually quick and a little too loud when she was nervous, slowed down. Her eyes lost focus, sliding just past Lena’s shoulder; the color drained from her face so fast it was like someone had flipped a switch.
“—and she reports the last panic attack was—”
Mara stopped. Her hand tightened around the metal clipboard. Lena watched the tendons in her wrist go stark-white.
“You okay?” Lena asked quietly.
Mara swallowed. “I… I don’t feel so—”
Her gaze went glassy. Lena was already out of her chair.
“Hey, put the chart down,” Lena said, stepping beside her and putting a hand between Mara’s shoulder blades, guiding her away from the team room. “We’re going to get you some air.”
“I’m fine,” Mara tried, but the words dissolved into a dry swallow. She pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth, breathing fast.
The hallway was mercifully empty. Lena walked her toward the stairwell—closer than the bathroom—and could feel the heat radiating off Mara’s skin through her scrub top.
“What did you eat today?” Lena asked, partly to keep her talking, partly out of habit.
“Coffee. Half a granola bar,” Mara muttered. “And…uh…whatever that casserole was in the lounge.”
“That casserole is a hate crime,” Lena said. “Okay, deep breaths, almost there.”
They pushed through the stairwell door and the cooler air hit them. Mara grabbed the rail with one hand and doubled over with a soft, frightened sound.
“Do you need to sit or are we aiming for outside?” Lena asked.
“Outside,” Mara gasped. “I don’t want to—” Her cheeks puffed. She clamped her lips shut, eyes watering.
“Okay, outside is good,” Lena said, hand firm between her shoulders now. “Small steps. We’re fine.”
They made it down one flight, down another. On the last landing, Mara stopped abruptly, body going tense.
“I’m gonna throw up,” she said. No bravado, no apology—just plain fact.
“Okay,” Lena said simply. “Then we’re going to let that happen.”
Mara shook her head, as if she could argue with physiology. Her throat worked. A thin string of saliva slipped from the corner of her mouth; she wiped it with the back of her wrist, eyes wide with embarrassment.
“Keep breathing,” Lena said, soft. “You’re not in trouble. Your body’s doing what it needs to do.”
They pushed out onto the side entrance, where the hospital’s concrete apron sloped toward the street. The air was bright and too sharp for someone already nauseated; Mara blinked in the sunlight, swayed once, then lurched toward the patch of concrete closest to the bushes.
She didn’t make it to the bushes.
Her stomach clenched hard and suddenly, and the first wave came up so fast she barely had time to bend.
It hit the sidewalk in a violent splash—thin liquid at first, bitter and clear, then thicker, streaked with the ghost of coffee, half-digested casserole, something orange from lunch. It spattered across the concrete and sprayed onto the toe of one of her clogs. The sound it made—wet and abrupt—echoed more than Lena expected in the open space.
Mara gagged again, body folding in on itself. Her ponytail swung forward; Lena caught it without thinking, gathering the hair in her fist and holding it out of the line of fire, the way she had a thousand times in med school dorm bathrooms and call rooms, back when everyone lived on bad vending-machine food and adrenaline.
“Good, just let it come,” Lena murmured.
Mara groaned, a raw, miserable sound, and another surge followed, more forceful. This time it splashed over the first puddle and splattered in a rough crescent, a little fountain of half-digested food that sent smaller droplets speckling the hem of her scrub pants and the white line of the parking-lot paint. The smell—acid, cafeteria, and something sour—rose up in a hot cloud.
“I’m so sorry,” Mara choked between heaves, voice breaking.
“There is no ‘sorry’ in gastroenterology,” Lena said. “You’re fine.”
Mara sucked in a shaky breath, then her abdomen clenched again. A third wave pushed up, more dry this time—thick strings of mucus and bile, yellow-green and stringy, stretching from her lips and hanging precariously before gravity pulled them down into the mess at her feet. When she tried to inhale, she gagged on the taste and coughed, splattering a few more drops across the concrete and her own shoe.
Lena tightened her grip on Mara’s hair, the other hand braced between her shoulder blades, feeling the tense tremor of exhausted muscle.
“Almost there,” Lena said. “You’re doing fine. No one has ever died of puking in front of their attending.”
Mara gave a strangled laugh that turned into another gag. A thin, final trickle dribbled out of the corner of her mouth, splashing on the sidewalk in slow, viscous drops. She spit once, twice, trying to get the taste out, saliva hanging in glistening strings before breaking.
Finally, her body seemed to decide it had done enough.
She stayed bent at the waist, hands braced on her knees, breathing through her mouth. Sweats beads had formed along her hairline. A damp patch clung to the front of her scrub top where a few stray flecks had landed. Her face, though, was returning from grey to a blotchy pink.
“Worst. First impression,” Mara panted.
“You’ve been here three weeks,” Lena said. “You’ve already impressed me. This just makes you human.”
Mara tried to straighten and swayed. Lena stepped in closer.
“Whoa. Sit before you collapse,” Lena said, guiding her over to the low concrete lip near the bushes. Mara obeyed, sinking down. Her hands shook. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and then stared in horror at the dark smear left behind.
“Yep, that’s going in the wash,” Lena said, matter-of-fact. “Stay put. I’m going to grab you some water and a bag.”
“No, I can—”
“Mara.” Lena’s voice had that attending tone that brooked no argument. “Stay.”
Mara huffed weakly but didn’t move. She watched Lena stride to the nurses’ entrance, speak quickly to someone inside, and come back with a small plastic emesis bag and a bottle of water.
“Here,” Lena said, opening the bottle for her. “Sip. Tiny sips. If your stomach gets dramatic again, the bag is Plan B.”
Mara nodded, took the bottle in both hands like it might jump away.
“I really am so sorry,” she said again, voice rasped and small.
“For what? Your GI tract having an opinion about cafeteria food?” Lena sat down beside her on the low wall. “If there’s anywhere you’re allowed to throw up, it’s a hospital. Consider this your employee benefit.”
That earned a real laugh, even if it was a fragile one. Mara sipped the water, carefully, eyes pooling again—not just from nausea this time.
It was the look that got Lena: the way Mara glanced sideways at her, as if checking to see whether she was disgusted, annoyed, or disappointed—and the visible relief when she found none of those there.
“This stays between us and the sidewalk?” Mara asked.
“The sidewalk is bound by HIPAA,” Lena said dryly. “You’re safe.”
⸻
The drive home should have been ten easy minutes.
Mara sat in the passenger seat of Lena’s car, emesis bag clutched in her lap, window cracked. She’d insisted she was steady enough to go home rather than the ED, and Lena, after checking vitals and watching her for a while, had agreed.
Halfway down the main road, the first speed bump did them in.
The gentle roll of the suspension was all it took; Mara’s face went from cautiously neutral to that same sickly green in three seconds.
“Oh God,” she whispered, fingers tightening around the plastic ring of the bag. “I’m gonna—”
“Bag. Now,” Lena said, one hand still on the wheel, the other reaching over to steady the base of the bag.
Mara barely got it open in time.
The heave came up from deep in her gut, dragging a thin whining sound out of her throat. A rush of sour fluid hit the bottom of the bag with a wet, drumming sound, splattering up the inside walls in chaotic streaks. The translucent plastic magnified everything—the pale chunks, the thin yellow fluid, the bubbles of air trapped between swirls.
Mara gagged again, shoulders rolling forward, and another wave shot out of her, hitting the half-filled bag and sloshing it dangerously close to the rim. Lena felt the heat through the thin plastic against her fingers.
“Keep it tilted up,” Lena said calmly, adjusting it so nothing spilled. “You’re okay. We’re almost there.”
“I hate this, I hate this,” Mara choked, eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners.
“I’m not thrilled either, but you’re doing fine,” Lena said, absurdly aware of the absurd intimacy of it—her hand bracing someone else’s bag of vomit while navigating an afternoon left turn.
By the time they pulled up in front of Mara’s apartment, the bag was about a third full of cloudy, sour-smelling liquid, with a few stubborn, floating flecks of what might once have been vegetables. Mara’s hands were trembling so badly Lena had to help her seal the top.
“Trash can by the side of the building,” Lena said. “We’re going to do a careful mission.”
They walked the few steps together. Mara dropped the bag in, wincing at the squishy thud it made landing on the bottom, and then leaned against the brick wall, breathing through her nose.
“I cannot believe I did that in your car,” Mara said hoarsely.
“And yet,” Lena said, “my upholstery lives to see another day. That’s a win.”
Mara huffed, eyes bright again. “You’re being way too nice about this.”
“Occupational hazard,” Lena said. “You spend enough years around med students and residents, you either get nice about bodily fluids or you burn out.”
Mara looked at her for a long moment, studying her face, like she was trying to find the catch.
“Thank you,” she said finally, quiet and sincere in a way that landed somewhere low in Lena’s chest. “For…not making me feel like a disaster.”
“You’re allowed to be a disaster,” Lena said. “Just don’t be a quiet one. Tell me when you feel like this. We’ll deal with it.”
Something in Mara’s expression softened at that, a tiny shift, like a knot loosening.
“Okay,” she said.
It wasn’t dramatic. No music swelled. But for Mara, that miserable, humiliating afternoon—the sidewalk, the car, the bag in the trash—lodged itself like a strange, secret thread of connection.
It was the first time she’d really felt that Lena would stay.
Short burp audio 💕
Listen to Eprocto by Kenny #np on #SoundCloud
candy corn comas
unfortunately, inspired by true events. 🤮
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Georgia should have known better. She always knows better. She’s the one who tries her best to keep Molly from impulse-buying buckets of glitter or eating questionable gas station hot dogs, the one who checks— and double-checks— that rent gets made, the one who makes sure everyone drinks water between rounds at the bar.
But tonight is movie night, the first chill of October outside, and Molly came home with a family-sized bag of candy corn that was apparently on sale at the convenience store on the way home. It’s big enough that it could probably sustain an entire small town through the winter.
Molly had had that wide grin, her eyes shining and mischievous, and had said, “Look, candy corn!” before pouring it all into their big candy bowl, so excited to have found it and brought it home to her.
So, here they are, three horror movies deep, and the bowl between them has emptied far faster than Georgia thought possible.
At first it had been fun— the waxy-sweet crunch of sugar, the way Molly kept popping three into her mouth at a time and giggles with her mouth full, the pleasant nostalgia of eating Halloween candy while watching scary movies.
Now, though—
Georgia’s hand hits the bottom of the bowl, and she glances down, realizing they’ve emptied it out.
“Oh, no,” she says, just as her belly groans.

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I love the energy 🥹
@maxt12 us ajshhahsja
Yes absolutely
!!!!!!!!!!
I LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!!!! <3 <3 <3 loud girls!!!!!!!!!
So good!
i ate an entire cake the other day
2 shared Google vomit albums:
https://goo.gl/photos/t9GzearFdd3JvUHw6
https://goo.gl/photos/Hy7NoerhRCekW3s48

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Part 1 ( had to trim the first recording I got into three parts because I was having a hard time posting it)
I didn't have much of an appetite all day, but I when I came home from work, I thought it would be a good idea to try to get some supper in me. I made a packet of ramen and felt so full after eating it... I knew I made the wrong choice. A little over an hour later it all came back up again. I was so sick, throwing up into a bread bag. And it just kept coming to! By the second and third part I kept trying to move to stop the recording but every little motion started me throwing up again. I think you can tell how exhausted my body was getting towards the end of it.
rb this if you want puke stories in your inbox/dms! i'm in an emeto kinda mood and i'd love to get some in mine 😉
Just made myself vomit for the first time and it felt so good 🥵
I had to stop because it’s the middle of the night, I have roommates, and I was getting loud
The sounds are my favorite part 😈
rb this if you want puke stories in your inbox/dms! i'm in an emeto kinda mood and i'd love to get some in mine 😉
The bag broke 😭😭

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After the bag broke, I had to quickly grab a bucket and get the rest of it up.
hey y’all it’s @queasy-kitty … i got locked out of my main account cuz i was blackout drunk and factory reset my phone. T-T i literally woke up and tried to check the time and my phone was just asking what language i wanted to use. i took 12 shots on friday night and it’s safe to say i was miserable and pukinh my guts up all day saturday. i have a bunch of videos to share hehe
anyways sorry about the inconvenience y’all. i’m back!!! and i would hella appreciate reblogs from emeto blogs so people can find me again!! ill repost my fav videos from my old blog onto here and then post some new content soon!!