#puking tw
2. Strangling - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
3. Manhandling - Martha (tumblr/ao3)
4. Hostage - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
5. Betrayal - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
6. Bruises - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
7. Sensory Deprivation - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
8. Severe Illness - Lois (tumblr/ao3)
9. Impact - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
10. Surgery - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
11. Drowning - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
12. Rescue - Lois (tumblr/ao3)
13. Burns - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
16. Half-Blind - Mister Wilson (tumblr/ao3)
17. Infection - Mister Wilson (tumblr/ao3)
18. Sprained Ribs - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
19. Stabbed - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
20. Kidnapped - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
21. Bleeding - Mister Wilson (tumblr/ao3)
22. Self-Harm - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
23. Screaming - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
24. Broken Bones - Lois (tumblr/ao3)
25. Comfort - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
26. Adrift - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
27. Poisoned - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
28. Bloody Hands - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
29. Insomnia - Lois (tumblr/ao3)
2. Strangling - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
3. Manhandling - Martha (tumblr/ao3)
4. Hostage - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
5. Betrayal - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
6. Bruises - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
7. Sensory Deprivation - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
8. Severe Illness - Lois (tumblr/ao3)
9. Impact - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
10. Surgery - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
11. Drowning - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
12. Rescue - Lois (tumblr/ao3)
13. Burns - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
16. Half-Blind - Mister Wilson (tumblr/ao3)
17. Infection - Mister Wilson (tumblr/ao3)
18. Sprained Ribs - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
19. Stabbed - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
20. Kidnapped - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
21. Bleeding - Mister Wilson (tumblr/ao3)
22. Self-Harm - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
23. Screaming - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
24. Broken Bones - Lois (tumblr/ao3)
25. Comfort - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
26. Adrift - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
27. Poisoned - Darcie (tumblr/ao3)
28. Bloody Hands - Clark (tumblr/ao3)
29. Insomnia - Lois (tumblr/ao3)
Whumptober Day 27!
Link to the Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/86584666
Title: Poisoning - Darcie
Prompt: No. 27 ‘I’m Fine, I Prom…’ - passing out, vertigo, collapse
Trigger Warnings: puking, poisoning
Word Count: 1873
There was new protein powder in the kitchen.
It was still kept in the same clear generic plastic container, and had the same texture and color too, but it tasted different from her usual stuff. It wasn’t that even that big of a difference - her shake was only slightly chalkier and more metallic beneath the artificial chocolate flavoring. Stormkrigeren put it down to the milk she had used for it - the flavor could change occasionally between batches, but as long as it didn’t look or smell bad, it was usually all right. Not like she couldn’t simply walk off any mild food poisoning that might result.
Stormkrigeren quickly polished off her breakfast of protein shake and fruit salad, washing out her dishes in the kitchen sink before returning to the main Room to perform some warm-up stretches. It was an arms and core day, which were always fun because it meant she could use the punching bag. The bag was usually stored in a cupboard in the storage/kitchen room, but now Stormkrigeren brought it out into her main Room and hung it on the folding steel bar against the south wall in preparation for the workout. Sixty minutes of alternating sprints, boxing drills, crunches, pushups, kicks, and punches. Certainly not the most challenging fitness routine she had ever done, but it was hard enough to make her satisfyingly sore when it was finally over. Stormkrigeren wiped sweat from her forehead as her alarm went off, signaling the end of her workout, and ignored the tenderness around her middle when she did one last crunch before getting up. It hurt a bit more than it usually did - but then again, everything tended to cramp a little bit when her menstrual period was approaching.
Stormkrigeren showered quickly and changed into some clean clothes before pouring herself a glass of orange juice and getting back to work. It was some online organization for one of LexCorp’s foreign subsidies - they were preparing another shipment to New York, and she had been assigned to come up with an analytics report on the proposed method of transporting the cargo. A simple, but not monotonous or necessarily challenging task, but Stormkrigeren still struggled to concentrate and ignore the uncomfortable churning in her stomach. She ignored it, of course, and carried on somewhat-normally for another half-hour or so before the nausea set in.
Abdominal pain, nausea, cramping, and a distinct lack of concentration - all early symptoms of many different sicknesses, but Stormkrigeren’s caretakers had long ago ruled out the possibility of the subject contracting any normal human illnesses. The last time she had ever felt like this had been last year when Mister Wilson had conducted a few ‘poison tests’ to see how she could handle various toxins and gases. Her body had little to no reaction to most of them, but a few of the more potent ones… had felt an awful lot like this. With her headache pounding the way it was, Stormkrigeren could only think of one logical conclusion: she had been poisoned somehow. And she needed to remove said poison from her system as quickly as possible.
“Fuck,” she muttered, stumbling up from her chair and towards the kitchen door, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck, oh shit - didn’t fucking recognize it sooner…”
Her legs were already trembling from the effort of sprinting to the bathroom and gave way beneath her as she crouched on the tile, but she still managed to lift the spotless toilet seat before shoving any stray hair behind her ears. She had not been gassed or injected, that she was sure of - most fumes would cause respiratory symptoms before gastrointestinal, and she couldn’t remember experiencing any needles or sharp pricks since her weekly blood tests a few days ago. It must have been something she ate or drank, and the quickest way to get it out was to make it come back up.
Mister Wilson had taught her how. ‘Just for emergencies’ he said. Comfortable position on knees, hair out of the way, head forward and gentle pressure on the abdominal area. Index and middle fingers in pointer position, pressed into the back of her throat to trigger the pharyngeal reflex and induce vomiting. Remain calm and relaxed, do not panic, never allow yourself to panic.
She eventually managed it, and promptly lost most of the meagre contents of her stomach into the toilet, along with much of her energy. The ordeal left her cold and trembling from the forced effort, muscles burning just from the effort of keeping herself upright. Her vision was swimming now as she clutched at the toilet bowl and tried to brush any loose hairs out of her face, taking deep breaths to calm the panic in her chest. It hadn’t been enough, she hadn’t gotten all of it out, there was still some of the poison inside her-
“One more time,” she panted, giving herself a goal to cling onto when the whole world seemed to be falling apart, “Damnit, one more time, get it all out.”
It wouldn’t do any good, she couldn’t possibly get all of it out this way, but she at least had to try. Stormkrigeren pulled herself up into position, her body trembling from the effort and vision flickering in shades of dark and light. She could feel herself slipping - physically or mentally, she couldn’t tell - slipping, falling, cracking, shattering, and finally slumping to the floor as oblivion took hold.
V*V*V*V*V*V*V
Movement woke her - nearby, to her left, footsteps on smooth concrete. Heavy footsteps, likely male, moving closer, stopping right within arms reach and crouching down beside her.
Her eyes flew open the same moment that Stormkrigeren kicked off the blanket and aimed a blow at the potential attacker - only for Mister Wilson to easily catch her wrist long before it made contact.
Stormkrigeren blinked, taking in the sight of him leaning down beside her, the usual scowl on his face and both of her wrists caught in his grip. She knew him well enough to tell that he wasn’t necessarily angry that she had tried to attack him unprovoked - approving, more like, but he didn’t tell her so aloud. Instead he tightly squeezed her left wrist until she was forced to open the hand, into which he pressed a full waterbottle in a subtle order to drink up.
“Pulse,” he ordered. She obeyed, pushing herself up into a sitting position and tilting her head to one side so he could press two fingers against the side of her throat, taking a moment to analyze her surroundings.
She was on the floor of her Room’s kitchenette, shivering slightly on the cold concrete - which would explain the blanket that had been tossed over her. There was an empty bucket off to her right, likely put there by Mister Wilson along with the blanket, and a warm, spicy, sweet smell coming from the nearby hob letting off small clouds of steam. Rice pudding - the kind with nutmeg in it that her teacher sometimes made.
“Did Dr. Schreyer call you?” Stormkrigeren ventured, finally working up the courage to point out the one small irregularity in the entire situation - it was the medically-approved Lisa and not Mister Wilson who was legally required to nurse the injured Stormkrigeren back to health in the case of an emergency.
“Off duty,” came the reply, “Lee’s the only one in the Watching Room, and he didn’t call me - didn’t even know you were hurting till I arrived for your lesson and politely explained to the bastard that something must be wrong because you hadn’t put your punching bag away.”
Part of her inwardly flinched at the mention - she was always supposed to put her punching bag away when she finished a routine, that was the rule, and somehow she had completely forgotten and broken that rule. There would be punishment for her negligence, there was no doubt of that, but she had no idea what or how severe it would be. Stormkrigeren found herself tensing in preparation, waiting for her teacher’s gentle hand on her pulse to turn into a fist for the inevitable blow. But Mister Wilson only frowned and muttered something to himself about her heart rate being too slow as he removed his hand to return to his place at the stovetop. Stormkrigeren let out the smallest sigh of relief when he stepped away, keeping her gaze trained on him at all times as he continued to rhythmically stir the pot before he finally spoke up.
“What do you think it was?”
“Arsenic?” she hazarded a guess, thinking back on all the symptoms she had shown before losing consciousness. Mister Wilson nodded.
“Likely. I’ll ask Luthor about it when I get the chance.”
It suddenly clicked and Stormkrigeren realized why her teacher was acting more protective than usual, rare worry lines creasing his usually grim face.
“You… didn’t put it there.”
“No,” he answered in a low growl, still stirring the bubbling pot, “But part of me wishes I had just so I wouldn’t have to address that bastard about running poison tests on my student without my permission.”
Mister Wilson snorted softly in annoyance and moved to grab two bowls from a nearby cupboard, “Of course, with the way you’re looking, you’re going to be out of commission for a few days till your body flushes it out. Won’t even be good for some light training, I’d expect - and no, you’re not ‘fine’. You were out like a light when I found you.”
Stormkrigeren swallowed back any protests she had about being well enough to train, knowing that her teacher would shut the argument down immediately with solid logic. Her body needed to recover first before Mister Wilson would even consider letting her do a few minutes of sparring practise, but the best she could do for herself at the moment was restore any fluids she had lost (vomiting tended to be very dehydrating).
She quietly drank from the waterbottle he had handed her earlier, the cool liquid soothing her burning throat as she watched her teacher at the hob. Mister Wilson had finally decided the porridge was thick enough and turned the heat off in favor of scooping rice pudding into the two bowls he had grabbed before finally moving to sit down nearby on the hard concrete floor with a low sigh.
“See if you can keep that down,” he muttered, passing her the smaller portion, which Stormkrigeren took with a grateful nod. It probably wasn’t the best thing to eat after having recently survived an attempted poisoning, but it was comfort food and might help to calm the twisting tension that lingered inside her since the ordeal. She followed orders and ate the pudding slowly, watching her teacher pull a pack of playing cards and an assortment of foreign loose change from his pockets.
“Ever played poker?” Mister Wilson asked, shuffling the cards.
“No, sir.”
He sighed, mildly annoyed and resigned, then smiled softly to himself as he moved a little closer to sit facing his student.
“I came all this way to give you a goddamned lesson,” he chuckled, laying out the cards, “Might as well teach you something.”
Whumptober Day 12!
Link to the Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/85751710
Title: Rescue - Lois
Prompt: No. 12 ‘It’ll Be Fun, They Said’ - torture, made to watch, begging
Trigger Warnings: puking
Word Count: 974
Lois could usually hold her liquor pretty well… emphasis on the ‘usually’. Tonight, for whatever reason - which could honestly be anything from what she had for dinner, how much sleep she’d gotten the night before, or what was most likely, the quality of the off-brand whiskey the bartender had poured her - she was having just the tiniest bit of trouble keeping it all together.
Lois usually preferred to turn down the intern pool’s attempts to get the illustrious Lois Lane and her boyfriend out of the office for a night of drinking and dancing at the local bar. She wasn’t the largest fan of crowds, liked her liquor at home with some quiet company, and really really hated the music that most bars tended to play nowadays. But for whatever reason, tonight had been different, and when Jenny approached Lois’ desk at the Daily Planet to politely dole out the invite everyone expected to be turned down, the senior reporter said she would give it some thought. Clark was all for it when Lois put the question to him - he was a tiny bit more social and perfectly happy wherever he was as long as Lois was there, though he did admit to her once that even he got tired of crowds after a while (especially with his enhanced hearing picking up every little sound). An hour after clocking out, the pair of them were sitting at the shiny wooden bar of the Ace of Clubs watching their work-colleagues mingle with the usual Friday night crowd.
Clark ordered a beer, farmboy that he was, and chatted amicably with someone from Printing about last week’s football game or something equally boring while Lois nursed her whiskey, regretting having taken Jenny up on her offer. That was not to say that Lois was an introvert - she just wasn’t a very big fan of people. The plate of fries Clark ordered helped to draw her out of her shell a tiny bit, though she still adamantly refused to join the dancing interns and contented herself with another shot of liquor while she listened to her boyfriend wax poetic about formatting styles.
Her ears perked up at the familiar phrase of ‘breaking news’ being announced from the tiny tv above the bar, and Lois glanced up in time to see a few images taken by helicopter of a forest fire raging in East Europe while the newsman explained the situation. Clark must have noticed it too, and she felt him stiffen beside her before excusing himself to go use the bathroom - more like the back door, Lois mused proudly. The anchor was explaining that it wasn’t an exceptionally large fire, just spreading quickly, so it wasn’t likely that it would take Superman more than half-an-hour to help the local FD get it under control. He’d be back soon.
Twenty minutes later, she was on her third glass of liquor and just intoxicated enough to start to enjoy the music, dulled as it was by the fuzziness in her head, and might have even considered moving to a seat a bit closer to where the dancing was happening if her stomach hadn’t been rolling.
Lois was an army brat, then a war correspondent, and now an investigative journalist - life had given her both the skills and opportunities to drink many important people under the table. Three whiskeys should have been a walk in the park, but thanks to a combination of stress, annoyance, too-loud music, and a lack of Clark reminding her to pace herself, she wasn’t feeling too hot. There was a pounding headache forming at her temples, and though she would never admit it, Lois stumbled just a little bit as she got up from her stool to head for the bathrooms in search of a bit of peace and quiet.
She wasn’t sure how she ended up puking, but the next thing she knew, she was losing her dinner down the toilet of the tiny bathroom just outside the pub’s kitchen. It wasn’t the first time Lois had thrown up in her life and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, though it still tended to hurt like hell and put her in a bit of a pissy mood. Luckily she got most of it out in one go and spent another ten minutes leaning against the tiled wall beside the toilet and breathing slowly while she wondered how long it would take the interns to notice that both herself and Clark weren’t at their usual spot on the bar.
A knock on the door jolted her upright, and before Lois had a chance to answer, she heard Clark’s voice asking from the other side, “Lo? Are you okay?”
“‘M fine,” she muttered in response, knowing that he would hear her, and unlocked the door to let him in. Ever-polite Smallville had apparently returned from his escapade to the wildfire with hardly a hair out of place or his glasses askew, and reluctantly obeyed when she beckoned him into the private bathroom, immediately taking in her situation before fishing a hairband out of his pocket and handing it to her.
“How much did you drink?” he asked, watching as she tied her hair back from her face and moved towards the sink.
“Just three.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I brought you a pick-me-up,” he responded, and Lois suddenly noted the shot glass of green juice in his hand with a smile - if only she could tell her past-self how right she had been when she had jokingly dubbed him ‘Superman’.
“When I’m done puking, we should get you on the dance floor,” she chuckled as she splashed water on her face. Clark simply grinned and pressed the glass into her hand.
“I think another plate of fries would suit us both a bit better.”
Whumptober Day 8!
Link to the Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/85543648
Title: Severe Illness - Lois
Prompt: No. 8 ‘Coughing Up A Lung’ - pneumothorax, exotic illness, “Definitely just a cold”
Trigger Warnings: puking
Word Count: 1463
Lois didn’t get sick very often - having grown up an army brat, she was ninety-percent sure she had almost every vaccine under the sun and had the immune system of a… damn, her writer’s brain wasn’t working… something that had a good immune system and didn’t get sick very often. Today was an exception.
It was hardly noon yet, and she’d already thrown up twice - once at the ungodly hour of five in the fucking morning, and again around nine when she had tried to down a cup of coffee and ended up losing it into the toilet. Her first thought was that maybe it was morning sickness, but that was quickly dismissed as an impossibility for a variety of reasons, then doubly-confirmed to not be the case when Clark, who had gone to fetch the mail, came back with the news that their neighbor across the hall and two people on lower levels of the apartment building were also “feeling a bit under the weather”, as he put it. Of course, that meant that they were throwing up too.
Clark, seeing that despite her protests she was in no state to go to work that day and probably shouldn’t be left on her own, promptly ordered her to bed and called the Daily Planet offices to explain the situation. He would work from home while Lois… Lois would try, but there was no assurance that anything she typed up would be coherent.
Now confined to bed rest, Lois lay spread-eagle beneath the covers staring up at the ceiling. Clark had come in at some point to close the curtains against the morning sun, set a glass of water on the nightstand and put her laptop on the end of the bed, just within reach, and had gently asked if she wanted a bucket as well. Lois, being as stubborn and as sick as she was, refused and rolled over in bed to bury her face in her pillow with the hope that he would go away if she ignored him hard enough - but Clark, being as sweet and as caring as he was (and a damned alien who had never had a sick-day in his life), didn’t take the hint and grabbed his own computer, situating himself on his side of the bed to get some work done while he kept her company.
The rest of Lois’ morning was spent curled up in a semi-comfortable position in her darkened bedroom, drugged up on Tylenol with a semi-awareness of Clark sitting nearby and a full awareness of the incessant clacking of his keyboard while he carried on with his day. There were a few times where he would get up to kiss her hot forehead and disappear out the window in a flash of red cape only to come back half-an-hour later, and a few more times where her phone pinging with a text message or her boyfriend asking a question would rouse her out of the fever-induced stupor just enough to give a half-hearted reply before she settled back onto the mattress. Being sick, she decided, was boring as fuck.
She knew that she must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing she knew, Lois was waking up hot and rumpled with a dull throbbing in her stomach and a dim awareness that Clark wasn’t sitting beside her anymore. Groaning with a combination of fatigue, pain, and general frustration with life, she kicked off the blanket and tried to sit up to check the living room for his presence before regretting the attempt immediately. Her head spun and the pain in her stomach doubled, but the worst of her issues was the sudden tightening in the back of her throat that she had very quickly come to associate with a violent need to heave.
Somehow she managed to gather the energy she had been utterly lacking in that morning to stumble to her feet and down the hall to the bathroom, flipping up the toilet seat just in time to lose the meagre contents of her stomach into the bowl. Lois, still not quite awake, was just upset that she still had enough half-digested food inside her for her body to get rid of.
Doing her best to keep breathing and ride through the convulsions wracking her core until the worst of it was over, she hardly noticed when Clark came running into the room - likely after hearing what likely sounded like an elephant seal puking up live penguins, Lois later noted, and then also noted that there was probably a reason Perry usually rejected her articles written while sick if these were the sort of descriptions she came up with - but she most definitely noticed when he gently held her hair out of the way, tying it back with a hairband that in all likelihood originated from his pockets that always seemed to contain exactly what she needed, and soothingly rubbed her back with his free hand while Lois threw up for the third time that day.
It stopped eventually. She was able to take a full, deep breath, to sit still without her entire body heaving with the effort it took just to get a little virus out, to finally focus on Clark’s warm touch instead of how fucking sore she was. Clark, being the adorable, caring studmuffin that he was, gently asked if she was alright and dampened a washcloth for her so that Lois could scrub at the feverish feeling covering her face and the back of her neck as she sat slumped against the bathroom cupboards with her boyfriend at her side. The small attempt at cleaning herself up made her feel a little bit better, or at least enough that she agreed to let Clark pick her up and carry her back to the bedroom. Once she was settled back in her chaotic nest of pillows and sheets, Lois watched as he busied himself with opening all the windows and turning the fan on, proceeding to shake out the unneeded blankets on their bed before folding them neatly away, and finally grabbing a glass of water, a half-eaten box of saltine crackers, and a bucket from the kitchen to set them down at her bedside. Whatever she had done to deserve this man, Lois had no idea.
Her appetite quickly returned after the last bout of puking, and Lois contented herself with steadily polishing off the crackers while Clark rearranged the pillows and settled himself on his side of the bed with a quiet, “Do you mind if I sit here?”
She shook her head and watched as he sat down and pulled out his phone - answering emails, if the way his fingers moved across the screen were anything to go by, and unsurprising as sometimes laptops felt like they had a little too big of a screen to do such a small task. She watched him type as she ate, switching the crackers for the water every now and again now that she was feeling a bit more up to the task of eating and thinking.
“You sure it’s not morning sickness?” Lois asked suddenly - and damn, she noted, was sick-brain Lois paranoid - stuffing a saltine cracker in her mouth and not caring if she spilled crumbs on the bed, though Clark with his hyper-tactility would most definitely care when he found out. He apparently hadn’t noticed yet, poking diligently at his phone as he lay beside her and nodded his head.
“I’m sure. I would’ve heard a heartbeat by now.”
That was good enough for her, and she continued to work her way through the remainder of the crackers now that her appetite was finally returning and her curiosity with it, “What’re you up to?”
“Playing Rummy,” came the answer, and Clark turned his phone so that she could see the screen and confirm that yup, the farmboy was playing cards and actually appeared to be losing against a bot, of all things.
“Clark?”
“Hmm?”
“Get me some more crackers?” she begged, “Please?”
He was up in a moment, and Lois could hear him rustling around in the kitchen before he returned a minute later with a bag of oyster crackers and what appeared to be a cup of homemade applesauce from the batch he had made a few days ago (his mom’s recipe, of course). Handing both items to her, he sat down on the bed with his laptop to pull up Netflix while she stuffed a handful of crackers into her mouth and snuggled up beside him with her applesauce to watch an episode of some random home renovation show. Being sick was boring as fuck, but somehow having Clark with her made it just the tiniest bit better.
