builder051
ill-o-mania
•I'm Laur, an adult human. He/him. • I write stuff, draw stuff, and review films. Original and fandom content (primarily MCU; full list here). • Fics are hurt/comfort, angst, sickfic, illness & injury, and emeto. • Drawings are largely gen with occasional i&i or nsfw. • I take commissions and prompts for fics and art.
| Check kink status here | See characters and fandoms here | Film Crits are here
| Buy me a coffee here
| See master story list here | I'm on AO3 as Builder | Professional blog is @llcupp-author
| Personal sideblog is @my-wayward-son | Vietnam War art sideblog is @laur-draws-war
• Chat me up if you want. I’m too shy to initiate anything, but if you get my attention, I’ll respond.
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Hey, just a little life update:
I’ve had a minor bowel surgery, which was to deal with a very common complication of my GI disease.
I’m working on art and miniatures mostly at the moment. I’m also doing tons of household tasks and rearranging my medical storage setup. I want a bedroom, not a hospital room, but there’s no getting around the need for equipment and 1,000+ individual pieces and parts.
I have one story idea on my mind, and I have it on my background to-do list. We’ll have to wait till a family member has an appointment out of town; I always write in the clinic waiting rooms.
Still here. Still love ya. Still interested in content and chatter.
Oh, and I posted a stoned anesthesia selfie on @the-guy-in-the-chair (my medical chatter sideblog).
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Hey I'm not sure if you remember me but I'm the same person who sent you some asks about getting a GJ tube awhile ago! I actually just got a port too and I remember you talking about having one. I've only had PICC lines before so I'm still getting used to the thing being on me lol. My doctors weren't super helpful about answering my questions (which was fair cause I had some pretty big complications they were dealing with lololol). I was just curious where yours is placed? They put mine almost in the center of my sternum. It's much lower than I expected too (maybe 2.5 inches below my collar bone?). They said it'll shift upwards over the next month, but I'm worried it won't move enough and accessing it without almost flashing my nurses will be super hard lmao 😭. Did yours move after they placed it at all? I'm probably way overthinking it. I have to wait til I'm 2 weeks post-op to use it cause of the complications so I still have a PICC and I'm so anxious to make the switch kjhkhgjhg.
I do remember you! It’s been a long time.
I’m sure you know the difference, but you do have a port, right? Not a broviac? In my experience, ports are generally placed ~1 inch below the collarbone to either side, and broviacs are more centralized (but that’s just in my experience). As for the hardware moving under the skin— not something I’ve experienced in the way your doctor explained it. I have had a couple of problems with mine, but I’ll tell you later on DM if you want. It’s kind of TMI for the general audience.
As for the awkward placement, wear scoop neck or henley or buttondown shirts to the doctor’s office so your upper chest can be seen, but you can cover back up right away.
Ports are so much easier to care for than PICCs. When deaccessed, you can shower normally without having to bother with a PICC cover and waterproof tape. And you can shower with the port accessed too. Just get some big sheets of tegaderm (regularly available on Amazon). I like the 8x8 sheets.
Ports are just so much better, in my opinion. Good luck getting used to yours. :)
(I’ll answer your other ask soon.)
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Just popping in with a media rec:
If you enjoy Supernatural or Aaron Mahnke’s world of lore, Aaron himself wrote a novel back in 2014 before his stuff went media-crazy.
It’s called Consumed, and it’s really fun and creepy and scary, but it’s also very formulaic (almost exactly like Supernatural) , and it’s a light, friendly read. It honestly feels like reading my Tumblr friends’ OC fiction. I highly recommend it. Especially as an audiobook.
And for those of you with interest in violent illness, there are two drawn out scenes and another few mentions throughout. :)
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okay hi hello not a request just a random pop in, i’ve been dying for some sick reid fics and so ive been lurking on your blog from when you wrote them and i just want to tell you they are all so so amazing and you are such a great writer!! you write everything so well!! im not so much into MCU and other stuff i’ve seen on your blog but i’ll probably read it all because youre writing is so 🤩🤩🤩. Anyway sorry for the random ask i just really wanted to thank you and tell you how great your fics are -🦇
Hi! Thanks so much. You’re too kind. I’m glad you’re enjoying my work.
I don’t currently write CM; it’s been a long time since I’ve watched the show, and I don’t love the later seasons or any of the spinoffs.
That said, though, Reid has a special place in my heart. I also struggle with fitting in and making social connections (I’m on the spectrum). I’m pretty happy with the CM fics in my archive.
I am writing solely MCU right now, but I have a lot of OC fiction in my archives (see master fic list; it’s linked in the bio at the top of my blog). Additionally, I have a published book (Battle of Troy; it’s on Amazon, and my professional blog is @llcupp-author ), and I also write on KindleVella. Just some other options in case you you’d rather read something not MCU.
I have 3 (I think?) Marvel novellas, which require little background knowledge in order to understand and follow the characters/plot. They’re all AU. Watch the trigger warnings, though. They’re quite deep and deal with some difficult subjects.
Again, thanks so much for getting in touch. It makes me so happy to connect with my readers!
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Month of Sick 2024 Day 3: Bad News(ish)
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@monthofsick
Iron man and Spider-Man. Choose your own timeline.
Warnings: emeto, high school drama
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Something seems off with the kid. Tony can sense it before the door to the lab whirrs slowly shut and seals like a hydraulic bathtub.
He can’t stand slamming. Not that Peter would dare to make an entrance with a bang. When the kid was first starting to visit him in the lab, Tony thought the mouse creeping was some sort of respect thing. Then he’d realized it was probably an apartment thing. Topics like housing inequality and wage gaps set angry, brain-eating larvae loose in his prefrontal cortex.
Tony usually fills the holes with a few spontaneous donations to institutes of higher learning. His fingers twitch toward his keyboard, but he rests a millimeter above the touch screen. Tony doesn’t want Peter to catch him throwing cash around, even therapeutically. That would just throw the kid-money-apartment guilt trip back into motion. At least Peter will be prepared for the niceties of life in a college dorm. It’d taken Tony a couple times around the block to recognize and participate in the etiquette of close quarters. And, of course, to start holding himself to the same standard he expected of everyone else. Hence his objection to doors noisily bouncing off walls.
Peter exhales slowly. “Hey, uh, Mr. Stark.”
The kid’s sneakers come to a halt, and he stands a respectable distance from Tony’s elbow. Something hangs in the space between them. The air feels charged with electricity. Is this what the tingle, the spider-sense feels like? Tony has never coveted Peter’s powers. He’s glad to stick with good ol’ observation and inference. He’s just a little proud how naturally the scientific method flows toward the correct conclusion. Like the fact that Peter’s anxious as fuck. And he’s been skating on carpet in wool socks. Or combing his hair without adding product. Tony grounds his feet and puts his hands on his knees, just in case the static bursts into an electric shock.
“Yeah?” Tony replies. He holds his gaze on the holographic screen in front of him for a moment, for the sake of normality. If he replies too quickly, he might tip the balance and bring on the thunderbolt. Tony cringes internally as he imagines Peter burned to a crisp. Or maybe a small pile of ash.
It would be the ash, for sure. Now that Tony’s turned to look at him, he considers his hypothesis confirmed. The kid’s pale. His hair sticks to his glistening forehead. His shoulders move up and down with every breath, which comes out loud and shallow. Bronchitis, Tony guesses. Depends on whether or not Peter’s running a fever. He could have FRIDAY run a scan in seconds. He could probably write a program for a chest x ray as well, but he doesn’t think breaking the eye contact is a good idea for now.
“Pete?” Tony asks cautiously. He tries to keep his concern out of his voice. “Did you run here or something? Why? It’s cold and brrr.” Tony mimes shivering and crossing his arms for warmth. “I thought track and field didn’t start until spring.” He eases up. If he talks too much, Peter will just start nodding in pseudo agreement.
“No, I, uh,” Peter stammers. “I took the bus.” He jerks his head suspiciously over his shoulder. “Do I smell like the bus?”
Tony keeps a straight face. He fights the urge to breathe in through his nose but eventually needs to rearrange what’s certainly a stony expression. He tries not to sniff too hard, then sets it off with a gentle smile.
“But do I, like…?” Peter trails off, lifting one arm. He presses his lips together, and the palest blush colors his nose and cheeks. If anything it makes him look sicker.
“You smell like… Rolaids, cinnamon, carnauba wax, and…pie crust?” There’s also a tinge of sour stress sweat, but Tony decides not to mention it. This whole topic of body odor is a surface issue. Meaningless chatter. Tony hopes his answer helps to loosen whatever’s got Peter so constricted, though he worries it might just pull it tighter.
“Hm.” Peter takes another audible breath, then nods. “Yeah, that’s—um, good.” He drops his arm back to his side, where he immediately begins picking at a rivet on the pocket of his jeans. “I was at Ned’s. His grandma was making emanadas. And she has those big glass candles with, like, the virgin Mary, you know?” The kid tries for a casual laugh, but he hiccups when he takes in a breath. He releases the rivet and puts his hand over his abdomen.
Tony wants to thump the kid on the back, but now’s probably not the right time to introduce physical contact. Tony doesn’t like to be handsy. Peter might have germs. The hand sanitizer is too far across the lab bench, and reaching for it now would be downright offensive.
“Ned’s house sounds great.” Tony says, filling what would be an awkward pause as Peter collected himself. The anxiety’s still coming off him in waves. Tony watches Peter’s shoulders quiver.
Tony ditches any remaining decorum and asks, “Hey, is your stomach bugging you?” He’d initially left is comment about Rolaids alone. They’d seemed like kind of a personal thing. He leaves a moment for the kid to respond, perhaps if time is of the essence to get to a bathroom or something, but Peter doesn’t say anything. He just swallows, then looks up without meeting Tony’s eye.
“Too many empanadas before the bus ride?” Tony offers.
“Hm… no.” Peter twists his lips, but settles on neither a smile nor a frown. It seems like he’s making his mouth as small as possible. “Yeah, I’m, like, I keep tasting lunch, but it’s, like, I’m fine.” The kid laughs again, sounding just as congested. “That’s probably TMI. Sorry.”
Tony shrugs. He doesn’t love discussions about acid reflux, but if that’s the problem… At least it’s a straightforward problem, but Tony has a feeling that’s more of a side effect. The real issue is something much deeper.
“They weren’t real Rolaids.” Peter blithers on. “Some kind of off brand…I got them at the bodega for, like, three bucks. I don’t think they actually work.” Peter catches himself and continues, “Not that I feel sick or anything. Just kinda—“ He removes his hand from his stomach and wavers it in midair. “I don’t know if the CVS ones are any better, or if it has to be, like, brand name…” Peter trails off nervously.
“If you do feel sick, we can fix that. Medicine cabinet in the ‘s pretty stocked ” Tony clasps his hands and rests his chin on his knuckles. “What’s going on, Pete?” Tony asks. “You don’t look so good. I mean, you smell fine, but…” Tony shrugs again. He doesn’t want Peter to feel interrogated, but if they can get to the heart of the matter… Maybe the kid will stop looking like he’s going to shit himself.
“I…” Peter hesitates. “I don’t feel really good.”
Tony can’t hold himself back anymore. “FRIDAY, run a temp scan.”
“Oh, no, I don’t have a fever.” Peter shakes his head, but the AI begins to glow, running a thin red line floor to ceiling and back again.
“Temperature scan complete,” FRIDAY reports. The outlines of two human bodies appear on the screen; temperature readings appear beside each in both Fahrenheit and Celsius.
Tony doesn’t even glance at his information. He squints in confusion when he reads Peter’s, though.
“98.7…” Tony muses. Maybe the kid isn’t incubating a bug. “How about heart rate?” Tony requests.
More numbers appear beside each figure. Tony blinks to be sure he’s reading the measurement correctly. The kid’s reads 130. Peter’s more than wound up. He’s about to blow his circulatory system.
Peter’s powers raise his metabolism, Tony reminds himself. But not that much. He’s pretty sure there are defibrillator paddles in the lab somewhere.
“Your heart rate is rising really fast.” Peter points to the pulsating heart icon beside Tony’s outline. “Is that, like, not good?”
“Oh—“ Tony backhands the air in front of his face as if batting the kid’s comment out of the way. “Forget me. Look at yours! That’s what’s not good. You’re stressing me out.”
“I told you. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Tony says firmly. “Are you scared or something? Is this- I don’t know- a panic attack?”
“Um, I don’t—” Peter gulps, then pulls his lips into a straight line. “I guess kinda stressing too.”
“What about?” Tony braces himself. What bothers highschoolers these days? Tony thinks to his own teenage experience, but he was so detached during that phase of life. He had nary a responsibility. His parents were still alive. Peter doesn’t even have that to lean back on. A rush of belated empathy hits Tony in the chest and leaches into his heart. The shot is not full of flesh-eating parasites this time. It hits hard and heavy, adding a terrible weight and increasing his worry.
Peter sighs. He puts his hands over his eyes. “Ok, ok. But please don’t get mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad?” Tony’s still focused on the possibility of a serious health incident. Even if the kid did it to himself, he’s far more concerned about the fallout than the details. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“You’re probably going to be totally disappointed.” Peter keeps his eyes covered. “I—I don’t think I made it into MIT.”
“You don’t think?” Tony repeats. “What, did you get a letter or something? They didn’t waitlist you, did they?” He does feel his temper begin to rise despite himself. Not toward the kid, though. What kind of signature-stamping admissions officer would put Peter’s application in the ‘maybe’ pile? His grades, coupled with his experience, should blow anyone out of the water.
“No. I don’t think so. But maybe? I didn’t think of that.” Peter says in a rush.
“What do you think?” Tony presses. He glances at the flashing numbers of Peter’s heart rate again. “Tell me.”
The kid takes a shaky breath. “Ned and I made this, like, pact thing, that we would tell each other at the same time, If we got in. After we’d both gotten our letters.”
“Ok…” This is clearly background. Tony waits for the hammer to fall.
“I kind of accidentally found out about Ned. Just now, at his house. He got his MIT letter. And I saw it. I saw Ned’s letter. But like, not really, exactly.” Peter wrings his hands and cringes. It’s like he’s trying to minimize his involvement in a crime.
Tony’s heavy heart throbs with empathy. If he were a cop, he’d let the kid off. He nods, and Peter keeps talking.
“It was just the envelope, though. But it had the logo and the return address and everything. And it was a big fat envelope. So he got in. They sent him the whole admission packet thing. I know he got in.” Peter bites his lip. “Denials come in tiny envelopes, right?”
“Usually,” Tony replies. “Bureaucratic shit.” He rolls his eyes, but immediately realizes he’s being too flippant. He straightens up and looks into Peter’s eyes. His lower lids glisten with unshed tears. “Why does that make you think you got denied?” Tony asks slowly. “I get that your big reveal is sort of ruined, but did your letter—“
Peter cuts him off, his cheeks burning red against his pale face. “That’s just it. I haven’t gotten my letter. Ned’s, like, two streets away, and I’m pretty sure we have the same mail carrier person, so if Ned got his, like, yesterday or today, mine should’ve come too.”
“Well—“ Tony intends to inject a little logic and reassurance, but the kid keeps going.
“I don’t know what kind of envelope they sent, I mean, like, whether I got in or not, and it’s—it’s— just too much, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and my stomach’s, just, like,” Peter pauses and contorts his face, his fingers slowly closing into a fist, “It’s making me all messed up. It might actually be making me making me sick. I think—maybe — I could, like—puke—or something—“ The kid wraps both arms tightly around his middle, then reconsiders and presses a hand over his mouth.
“Ok, ok,” Tony says, making placating gestures while looking wildly around the lab for a trash can. There’s one under the desk on the other side of the room. Definitely not helping. And it’s too late anyway.
Peter leans forward and retches. Vomit dribbles from his palm and drips down his chin. He makes an apologetic sound, but it’s lost in the next upcoming heave.
“You’re good.” Tony stands, sending his stool rolling backward under the lab bench. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh,” the kid groans. His shoulders lurch, and more splashes down into the puddle growing around his feet. “‘M really sorry.”
“Don’t be, really.” Tony tentatively pats Peter’s shoulder. For now, he’s providing comfort. But Tony’s poised to catch the kid if he slips or starts to pass out.
Peter hiccups. Then he gasps, and his entire body shudders.
“Pete?” Tony moves sideways so he can get a look at the kid’s face. He’s still pallid, but now his eyes and nose are red as well. The impending tears are now running down his face.
“It’s ok,” Tony intones. “Really. We’ll get through it.” They’re just words, but he means them. Truly. Deeply.
Peter splutters, then spits on the floor. “Sorry,” he says again. “That was, like, really gross.”
“Eh.” Tony shrugs. “Feel better?”
“Uh, no.” Peter’s voice is hoarse, and it sounds like his mouth is still wet and stringy. “I mean, yes,” he amends quickly. “But, like, not completely?”
“Stomach is better, but the stress is still there?” Tony interprets.
“Yeah.” Peter sighs. “I’m, like…” he shakes his head.
“You’re going to be ok.” Tony gives the kid’s shoulder a squeeze, then points him toward the couch against the wall. Once he’s sure Peter is steady on his feet, Tony follows, dragging his stool along behind him.
Once they’re both sitting, Tony points at the bot positioned by the desk. He clicks his fingers. “Hey. You. DUMM-E.”
The robot whirrs and spins its tires.
“Mop,” Tony commands. “Now,” he pauses, then adds, “please.”
DUMM-E clips the wall with a loud scraping sound, but soon they can hear the squish of a wet mop against the floor.
Tony rests his elbows on his knees again. It’s his best calm, listening posture, he thinks. That’s what he wants, anyway. He doesn’t have a default reaction to stress-puke. Tony tries to be calming and an active listener. Maybe a sounding board. He wants to be whatever the kid needs, and, to be honest, he isn’t sure what that is.
“God, I’m…” Peter looks at the floor and shakes his head. He’s trembling and still suppressing sobs. “Sorry.”
Tony leans in and speaks quietly. “You’ve got to stop saying that. I don’t care. I have the bots to deal with the small stuff. Gross stuff.” He shrugs. “Whatever.”
DUMM-E makes a reproachful swivel and whir, but Tony ignores it.
Peter sniffles, but doesn’t say anything.
“Alright, I’ll start,” Tony says. “I’m going to skip the sappy stuff. But I am going to ask you the annoying questions.”
Peter nods without looking up.
Tony puts his hand up to count on his fingers. “Did you check your mail today? Or just Ned’s?”
“I checked,” Peter replies in a monotone. “Well, actually I texted May and asked her to check.” He meets Tony’s eyes for a brief moment. “So, well, basically.”
“Alright.” Tony nods curtly and puts one finger down. “Do you know the timing of your mail carrier’s route?”
“It’s, um, in the morning? Usually?” Peter wipes the back of his hand under his nose.
“Ok.” Tony puts down his second finger. “Have you…” Tony pauses. He can’t remember the next question. He’s sure there’s another. It’s on the tip of his tongue.
“I’m so doomed,” Peter whispers. “I’ve totally failed you, Mr. Stark. If you don’t want me to go on missions anymore, it’s ok.”
“Hey, stop that. I’ll still care about you if you don’t get into MIT.” Tony lets out a breath. “There, now you’re making me say sappy stuff.”
“I’m sorry.” Peter’s face folds and tears start falling again.
“It’s ok. It’s ok, really.” He has another question. He does. He just needs to concentrate. Emotions rattle between the holes tunneling away his brain. “Umm…” Then it comes to him. It’s so stupid simple. He should’ve asked it first. “What address did you give them? On your application?”
“Huh?” Peter squints, then blinks wetness out of his eyes.
“Did you put your address? Like your apartment?” Tony specifies. “Or did you put this one?” He points at the floor. “The tower. I get a few other people’s mail here. People without permanent addresses. Like Thor.”
“Thor gets mail?” The kid asks.
Initially, Tony isn’t sure if he should answer. Would Peter feel like he’s distracting him on purpose? “So much mail.” Tony chooses to go with the flow. “And he reads all of it. He sits there for hours. Eating out my fridge.” Tony hazards a smile, but continues to make haste. “What about your mail. Do I get your mail? I can’t remember.”
“Oh.” Peter covers his mouth.
Tony prepares himself for another round of puking.
“I think…” Peter murmurs, “I think, maybe, yes?”
Tony can barely hear him; the kid’s voice is both quiet and muffled. But he sees the expression on Peter’s face. Surprised. Hopeful?
“I think I put this address. Because it was all official and everything?” The kid raises his head. “I think I probably did.”
“Ok,” Tony says. “Well—“
“You must think I’m so stupid.” Peter seems on the brink of tears again. “Oh my god—“
“Stop talking.” Tony doesn’t mean to make it an order. Well, perhaps he does. Just a little. He stops barely a second, then issues another. “Why don’t you run up the stairs and check the mailbox?”
“What? You think it came here?” Peter jumps to his feet.
“Go see. It’s right at the end of the driveway.” Tony points to the door.
Peter takes off at a sprint. His shoes squeak halfway across the floor. It’s still damp from its recent mopping.
Tony looks down at his watch. He gives the kid a 30 second head start. Then he swivels his stool around. “FRIDAY?” he asks.
“Yes, boss?” Tony swears he senses excitement in the AI’s tone.
“Pull up the security cam feed. I want a good look out front.”
#fanfic#fanfiction#month of sick#day 3#month of sick 2024#bad news#sickfic#emeto#spider-man#iron man#Marvel#mcu
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Ok folks—
I apologize for not making my deadline for the 03 February story. I will try not to give hard dates for future posts; life ebbs and flows more than the calendar accommodates. Having a chronic illness and an active family life makes that time even harder to schedule.
I feel kind of guilty and flaky and unprofessional when I miss a “due date.” I don’t want you as readers to feel cheated.
Here’s my honest progress:
I have the story in a doc, and it is largely finished, but the ending is in bullet points instead of sentences.
I have not had a good moment of mental clarity and motivation in the past couple days. Also, my child’s birthday is tomorrow, and I have two appointments.
This fic is on my radar. I’ve put it on multiple to-do lists. I want to work on writing a little more often. Recently I’ve been doing mostly visual art and house cleaning.
The fic will come soon. I will not abandon it.
I just can’t make any other promises right now.
Thanks for sticking with me. :)
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As a separate statement from everything else I’ve said tonight, I have a Spider-man and Ironman fic in progress that will address monthofsick’s day 3 prompt. It will be completed and posted tomorrow.
Also, two cats have just sniffed and recoiled from a bowl of wint-o-green lifesavers, one right after the other. That’s some nice entertainment in the kitchen at midnight. But let’s all go to bed!
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I feel super weird and awful for posting this. I am not trying to call anyone out. I am trying to get us all on the same page.
I know I produce things very slowly these days, and there’s often lot of time between my posts. I hope to always post quality art and stories, and I’m just not able to do that at warp speed anymore. I am at a very different place in life now than I was when I posted my first fic 7 years ago.
I always welcome prompts and suggestions, even when I’m on hiatus. I’m always happy to mull over a new idea, help find something I’ve already written that fits your interest, or just chatter and headcanon and have good fun. I try to reply to everyone, though I do sometimes keep asks in the box so I don’t forget to fill a prompt, if that’s what I’m going to do with it.
Sometimes I initiate prompt games, like story dice or inviting readers to choose a character/situation from a list. For the most part, these are time-sensitive, and the specifics and rules for that game will be listed in an independent post originating from my blog. I love hearing what my readers are interested in, and the expository nature is fun and invigorating. I don’t do games very often anymore, though, due to my slow production speed.
When it comes to monthly challenges, the kind with a daily prompt like whumptober or monthofsick, I try to push out a little more quantity. My goal is always to have fun; I like reading over the prompts and letting my imagination run through different ‘verses and situations. I often have a dedicated notebook where I jot down notes and outlines of what I want to do for each prompt (or if I want to do it or skip it or sub it). For these events, I see it as a daily opportunity for creativity, like Inktober, if you’re also in the art world. The prompts provided by the moderator are tied to the days of the month (though lag and shift both happen), and it’s the creator’s choice as to how to go about addressing each day’s work. Though I welcome audience involvement and asks and comments on fics produced during these events, I would prefer to treat these challenges as I’ve described above—each prompt is tied to a day, and the creator is self-led in producing the coordinating piece. I hope the element of the unknown can add excitement to the audience as it does to the writers.
So, TLDR, Laur feels like a giant ass, but he would prefer to receive asks with prompts either spontaneously or as part of a time-sensitive game originating from his own blog. He would prefer not to receive asks regarding the prompt list for events/monthly challenges.
In no way is this meant to be applied to ask games and memes involving emojis, trivia, facts about me, etc. Please proceed as usual with those.
I’m sorry for writing you a novel on this. You know me. Never can be concise.
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Hi! I was the one who sent in the last prompt.. I get that you feel it might be a bit tropey, which is understandable! So I was thinking maybe the post - adrenaline puke with Peter and Tony, hopefully that’s a bit more realistic and more enjoyable for you write! Was just hoping Peter could be the one with the post adrenaline?
Thank you, and I appreciate anything that you write I think you’re brill!!
Thanks, friend. I’m so glad you’re interested in my work. I have a fic in the archives about Peter having an adrenaline dump. If you go to the bio on my blog, there’s a link to my master fic list, which is further broken down by fandom and ‘verse. Most of the fics listed have a 1-line summary so you can find what you’d like. (Note: the master fic list is at least a year out of date; Tumblr doesn’t allow more than 250 links on one page, and daisy chaining is very iffy. If you know of an old fic of mine but can’t find it, let me know and I’ll lend a hand.) I do know for a fact that the adrenaline dump fic is on the master list.
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Hi! For the prompts is there any chance you could do the bad news = bad stomach with Peter and Tony? Preferably Peter getting the bad news and a bit of emeto? Thank you! If not though it’s cool :)
That was actually one of the prompts I was considering skipping; to me it seems a little bit…tropey? Like, unusual for a naturally flowing scenario? Idk. To me it doesn’t seem like something that happens often in real life. I’m sure it happens. I’ve never witnessed it irl or in a movie or anything.
HOWEVER, since you’ve asked, and now I’ve gone and thought about it, I might have an idea. Have low expectations. It’ll be short and will probably break canon.
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I know I’m terrible at following through with plans, but this might spark some ideas for content this month. I have a big fic idea, but it’s kinda too close to home to work on regularly, so it’s still an outline. Popping out some short stuff or dialogues or 200-word fics would do me much good. :)
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🌿
Describe your favorite outfit:
I’m basically wearing it right now! I went out earlier today to get a haircut, so I dressed in “people clothes” instead of warm pajamas (it’s been around 30 degrees F for the past couple days).
I probably look like a millennial through and through, but I started dressing this way in college and just haven’t stopped. Today I have on a dark grey t shirt that has this vintage-y graphic of Winter Soldier, light wash biker jeans, a pair of Vans, and a navy blue hoodie. I usually like to wear a pendant or necklace of some kind (something neither chunky nor delicate, but heavy enough to stay put and fall below collar bones), but today I’m just jamming with the extension to my central line attached to a key ring on a silk cord. Not so stylish, but it’s always part of the look.
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Starbucks Sunday: gotta play a game. :)
~ 💖 ASK GAME 💖 ~
📷 What’s set as your phone’s lockscreen?
🍫 Cheese or chocolate?
✨ Do you have any nicknames?
🎵 Last song you listened to?
✏️ Have you ever written fanfiction?
😏 Are you on discord?
💛 Do you have any piercings?
🐰 What do you think says the most about a person?
🍪 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be?
🐶 Are you more of a dog person or a cat person?
🎧 Headphones or earbuds?
🌼 What’s the last thing you said out loud?
🙃 What’s a weird fact that you know?
🦉 Are you a morning person or a night owl?
🧸 Favorite place to nap?
🏳️🌈 Are you a member of the LGBTQIA+ community?
🦋 Describe yourself in three words.
👖 Jeans or sweatpants?
🥤 What’s your go-to Starbucks order?
🧡 A color you can’t stand?
💎 What’s your most prized possession?
☕ Coffee or tea?
🦖 Favorite extinct animal?
🌙 How long have you been on tumblr?
🌴 Desert island item?
🐸 Describe your aesthetic.
🔮 What’s your dream job?
💙 Relationship status?
🌿 Describe your favorite outfit.
🎤 Is there a song you know all the lyrics to?
🤎 What color is your hair?
💌 Do you talk to yourself?
💄 Do you wear makeup?
🌸 Best compliment you ever received?
💞 @ your favorite blog.
Reblogs are appreciated!
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It’s Starbucks Sunday. I got a haircut. I’m having a nap now. I will wake up this evening to do chores. I’ll find a game to play. And maybe I’ll write something. :)
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I'll take G, Q, and O for the dreadful alphabet.
G is for gross
Being medically complex pretty much puts all kinds of bodily fluids in the ‘ordinary and unexciting’ category.
What I actually have a touch aversion to is sticky-slimy, which we tend to refer to as ‘dead frog.’ One of our kids is into temporary tattoos, and once the backing paper is saturated and the image affixed to the skin, the paper is no longer paper. Though it retains its shape, the texture is slippery and amphibious and I want to flick it far away from me. Trip hazards are kind of a thing at our house, so I have bent down many times to pick up a little piece of paper on the floor only to be blindsided with a tattoo backing in disguise.
O is for overwhelming
Finances are overwhelming for me. I won’t talk numbers, but I will talk about unpredictably x unpredictability and how that makes my attempt at budgeting completely fail.
Income is variable depending on hours (and the math errors of the payroll people), insurance minimum monthly payment is variable, my essential need items last for various amounts of time (which makes Amazon Subscribe and Save really hard to figure out), need and want items are hard to distinguish (like if a couple pajama shirts are too small, from which category should the funds come from to replace them?), and I occasionally have unexpected expenses like a copay for a prescription.
Keeping my budget in a written notebook or phone app is really hard for me. We’re trying to move forward with social security disability so I can quit my current job. I have high hopes for that to cut down the calculations.
Q is for quit
In my college experience, I’ve never received a final grade below a B. I do have one course marked W/P, and the percentage grade for it wasn’t calculated with the set of numbers crunched to make my GPA.
W/P is withdraw with a passing grade, and I was just barely making a C-. I’d been through survey math, number theory, algebra, geometry, and precalc, so I thought calculus I was the next logical step. I don’t want to totally blame the instructor, but he was a TA, and he stood really close to the chalk board while writing/drawing and lecturing. I barely understood his speech, and he always switched between degrees and number/pi. No consistency. He advised we learn the times tables beyond 12x12 so we could work “faster.”
I work much better with a gentler hand. Even though I always got homework points (for doing it and turning it in, not necessarily that I got correct answers), I got a D on the first exam, and that dropped my average significantly.
I decided to flee while I still had the chance.
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J
J is for joke
So. I hadn’t heard the term ‘in a box six feet underground’ until I was in my late teens. When I did come across it, my logical autistic brain thought it meant a bunker, or, like, a WWII bomb shelter. That seemed appropriate to me because it sounded applicable to current events like Operation Iraqi Freedom and Republic extremism/survivors. I had no idea the phrase meant to imply a person was deceased.
My parents were talking about where somebody was, like a relative or friend or someone who might have moved to a new state or gone on a spontaneous vacation without alerting anyone.
So basically it went ‘Where is so-and-so; we don’t know how to get in contact with them.’ A lot of my relatives are Republican extremists, so it seemed like a good time to offer the survivalist bomb shelter options (maybe as an applicable joke?)
. My parents stared at me and told me that I was so incredibly rude. I made a confused face, and then they explained the actual meaning, which made me so horribly embarrassed and so sorry for insulting whoever it was that was missing.
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The terrible horrible no good very bad alphabet
A is for annoyance
B is for boring
C is for crime
D is for distress
E is for embarrassing
F is for fear
G is for gross
H is for hate
I is for injustice
J is for joke
K is for kill
L is for lies
M is for misery
N is for neglect
O is for overwhelming
P is for pain
Q is for quit
R is for revenge
S is for stupid
T is for trouble
U is for unfortunate
V is for victim
W is for weird
X is for ex-
Y is for yearning
Z is for zero
__________
Send me a letter and I’ll post a (disappointing) anecdote. I’m doing chores and could use some company on this cold and snowy Starbucks Sunday. :)
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